When a Veela Cries
by E.C. Scrubb
Summary: A tale of rage and revenge, of loss beyond what any person should have to bear . . . and a tale of love, Harry's only hope out of the darkness.
1. Mazes and Resurrections

**A/N** The obligatory author's note. I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, glamor, or anything else but a lack of sleep from the Harry Potter universe.

**Also, please note**. This is a darker story with emotional pain, character death, revenge, and other issues. It is not a light-hearted story by any means.

**A/N 3 Years later: **I can't believe it's been that long. I just published chapter 24, and to come back and read the beginning . . . has my writing ever changed. I've thought about reworking the first few chapters, but I also like the idea of this story being snapshots of my progression in writing. With that said, the first six or so chapters are rocky, but there's still a charm in them, I think (or, at least, I hope). Nevertheless, I've been told that the writing takes a dramatic turn upward six or seven chapters in. So, be patient with it at the start and enjoy the story. I'm still enjoying writing it.

**PART I**

**THE CRUCIBLE**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

**Mazes and Resurrections**

A young wizard in a Hogwarts cloak walked across the lawn towards what was once the Quidditch pitch, taking comfort in the two best friends by his side. Their relationship had changed this year. He and Ron had some rough times in the beginning, but by the time they had pulled a young Veela out of the lake, it was ancient history and they had grown much closer.

Hermione, however, both amused and annoyed Harry to no end. He bit back a laugh, thinking about SPEW. She was dedicated and brilliant, if a bit touched in the head about certain issues. Of course, that amused him even more. What annoyed him however was the way she smiled every time Fleur would pass on a message from Gabrielle. He could still hear the light sarcasm—as if she was playfully trying to educate Fleur on something.

"_Oh, look, Fleur's playing mail-owl again,"_ or _"Don't you find it odd that Gabrielle can't send an Owl to you?"_

Of course, yesterday was even worse_. "What are you going to do if your sister forgets to write?"_ she asked Fleur.

Harry still didn't understand why Hermione cackled as the blushing Veela walked away.

"You ready?" she asked, as if she sensed he was thinking about her.

Harry looked out over the green lawns towards the Maze for the third task, and beyond that to the setting sun in the distance. "Ready? I'm looking forward to it being over."

"After dragons and mermaids, I can't blame you," Ron agreed. "Who knows what you'll be facing tonight."

"Ronald!" Hermione said. "Don't fill his head with those types of thoughts!"

"Fill his head? What, you think he hasn't thought about it already?"

Hermione stuffed her hands in her pockets and rolled her eyes. "Well, I do know that if it was Quidditch you would've talked him to death about it."

Harry laughed. "Hey, Ron, maybe this summer I can come to the Burrow earlier and we can practice. Gryffindor needs a keeper next year."

"Brilliant! We can ask mum before she goes home tonight."

"Boys and Quidditch," Hermione mumbled. "Ever think about reading a book during the summer? Maybe studying ahead so you don't have to rely on someone else to correct your essays?"

"Where's the fun in that?" Ron asked.

Harry choked back another laugh.

Drawing closer to the pitch, he began to think about the task. All he had to do was get through the maze and find the cup. If an obstacle was too hard, he'd just backtrack and go a different way. How hard could that be?

The crowd noise shook him out of his thoughts. The stadium was bright with lights that turned the coming night into day and the clouds overhead glowed red from the remaining sunlight.

"It was nice of your mum and Bill to come visit me today," Harry said as he caught sight of a ginger-haired family in the distant stands.

"Dad is here too," Ron said. "He took the Floo into Professor McGonagall's office about an hour ago. Charlie tried to make it, but one his dragons got sick. It'd take a death in the family to get him home now."

They stopped at the tunnel entrance that led out to the field.

"Anyway, good luck Harry. Tomorrow's Sunday so we'll stay up tonight and plan the summer." Ron nodded to Hermione. "We might even invite her if she's lucky."

"Ron!" Hermione half-yelled, half-gushed.

Harry bit back another chuckle. How long before they finally got together?

She turned back to him and gave him a big hug. "Good luck!" she said. Then, with dancing eyes and a much quieter voice, "Oh look, it's Fleur, like I said, good luck!"

Harry caught Hermione's smile before she quickly turned her back to him and ushered Ron off to find his family. He shook his head, again humored and annoyed at the bushy-haired brat. At least, that's how he felt about her when she smirked at him like that.

He watched them walk along the back of the stands, but in the light of the setting sun, he couldn't help notice the Forbidden Forest in the distance –more than one memory came to mind of their exploits there.

"'Ello, 'Arry. Ready for the last task?" Fleur Delacour asked as she walked by.

"I'm ready for it to be over, more than anything else. How's Gabrielle doing?" Harry asked, pulling himself back to the present.

Fleur shrugged. "Not so well. They 'ad to go back to France."

"Why? What's wrong?" he asked, deeply concerned for the girl two years younger than him. He couldn't help feeling a brother-like protectiveness toward her ever since that fateful day in the Black Lake; a feeling that only grew stronger thanks to Fleur.

"She'll be okay, but I'd be careful next time I saw 'er, no?" Fleur teased as they walked through the tunnel to the field. "Gabrielle's Veela 'eritage is emerging and my sister likes you."

Harry felt a spark of indignation at the look Fleur was giving him. It was too close to the way she looked at him the night his name came out of the Goblet of Fire.

"_They are saying that this little boy is to compete also!" _

"Little boy," he whispered to himself.

"What was that, 'Arry?" Fleur asked.

He shook his head as they stepped out of the tunnel. Before them, expanding from one side of the stadium to the other, sat the maze. The hedges had grown impossibly high over the last few weeks, not to mention thick. To their right, half way down the pitch, stood Cedric and Krum with Mr. Bagman. Harry and Fleur started towards them.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you," Fleur whispered in Harry's ear.

Harry stopped dead on the spot, his heart pounding as his anger flared. After the first two tasks and the rumors of his past encounters that she had assuredly heard, why in the bloody hell would he need her protection?

He didn't realize his thoughts and emotions were playing across his face.

"From my sister, 'Arry. I was only joking," Fleur clarified.

"Oh."

Before he could say anymore, they arrived at the starting point. Harry felt Mr. Bagman's arm on his shoulder and shook it off before he could separate Harry from the other Champions.

"Isn't time to start?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I guess it is, isn't it!" the ex-Quidditch player answered, exuding a lot more cheer than Harry felt.

A moment later, Ludo Bagman's voice boomed across the stadium. "The time has come to begin!"

The crowd roared its approval, but Harry tuned it all out, now trying to concentrate on the task before him and settle his nerves. He stood side-by-side with Cedric at the entrance to the maze. The whistle blew and they entered together.

As soon as they crossed the invisible line separating the outside of the maze from the entry path, the crowd noise ceased. Twenty feet further, Cedric broke the silence as they jogged. "Would you have preferred this, or chasing a Snitch for the last task?"

"This," Harry answered quickly. "Don't you remember what Krum did to that Irish Seeker?"

Cedric chuckled. They came to the end of the entrance path and he turned to Harry. "Good luck."

"You too," Harry replied before going to his left and following the path a few feet, then turning to his right at the next opening.

A few minutes later, Harry figured he had passed the center by twenty yards or more, so he took the next right and tried to loop around; hoping to find an opening that would let him into what he thought was the inner-part of the maze.

After ten minutes and whispering "point me_" _more times than he could count, Harry came to an opening on his left and stepped through it, facing another set of hedges that magically thinned out before him. Looking through them, he saw into the next path and through that into another one. The hedges on the other side of that path were thicker and taller, which meant the cup was just beyond them.

In the back of Harry's mind, a warning flashed. There was no way he should have been able to get this close to the cup without encountering much more than a Boggart and a specialized Repelling Charm.

Unfortunately, Harry was too intent on it being over to hear his own warning.

Turning to his left again, he ran up a path and was about to make a right when he heard Cedric screaming in pain.

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation as Harry ran towards Cedric's voice, making his way through the maze as fast as possible.

Cedric screamed again and Harry stopped and backtracked a few yards.

He had to be on the other side of the hedge.

"_Diffindo._"

A few small branches and leaves fell to the ground, but the hole wasn't big enough for Harry to step through it.

"_Expulso!" _The hedge shook with the impact of the curse, opening a larger hole, but it still wasn't big enough. It took Harry two more attempts before he was able to step through it. He found Cedric lying on the ground, his skin white and glistening with sweat, his eyes wide in horror.

A creature that Harry vaguely remembered as a Porlock stood at Cedric's feet. The shaggy, three-foot tall, cloven-hoofed creature stared down at the Champion on the ground, waiting.

Cedric shook his head and tried to sit up, but the Porlock opened its mouth, emitting a piercing sound. Cedric screamed, turned white, and fell back to the ground.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry cried out. The spell hit it and deflected off without any noticeable effect.

"_Flipendo!" _Again, there was no effect.

Cedric stirred and raised his head, coming to. Once again, the Porlock opened its mouth.

"_Incarcerous!_" Harry cried, desperate to do something. The ropes wrapped tightly around the creature, covering its body and mouth, effectively muffling whatever sound it was making. Harry stepped closer and reached down to help Cedric up. Back on his feet, the two of them turned and ran the opposite direction.

"What was that?" Harry asked as they ran down a long pathway.

"I'd kiss a Skrewt if you could tell me," Cedric answered. "Every time it'd make that noise my entire body felt like it was being torn apart."

They turned a corner, then another corner, losing themselves further into the maze.

Finally Harry stopped. "You know what curse that sounds like, don't you?"

"What are you thinking?"

"The _Cruciatus _Curse."

"I don't know, I've never experienced it." Cedric answered, adjusting his robes and wiping off the dirt. "It's painful enough, but I've never heard of the _Cruciatus_ knocking people out before. It's more like the _Cruciatus _is a copy of that thing."

Harry inspected his wand, not wanting to meet Cedric's eyes as his thoughts fell into place. "Maybe you're right."

"What?"

"Maybe it wasn't an accident that it was you and not me that happened upon the Porlock."

"What are you gobbing on about?" Cedric asked.

"How many creatures and impediments have you come up against?"

"I'd have to say, six or so. It's about what I—"

"A Boggart and a Repelling Charm," Harry said. "Outside of that, I've had none."

The two boys looked at each other silently, the task forgotten.

Cedric broke the silence after a few moments, his voice contemplative. "Probably half the creatures were dark. It surprised me the first couple times."

"The only surprise for me was the hedges thinning so I could see the inner hedge around the cup is on. Why would you have it so hard, and I so easy?"

Cedric took a deep breath, finally making the connection. "You didn't put your name in the Goblet, did you?" he asked.

"No."

"That means you've spent the whole year looking behind your back, again."

"Glad you finally realized it," Harry said a bit sarcastically.

"I guess I deserved that."

"Yeah, well, maybe next time someone will believe me."

"Probably deserved that, as well," Cedric said as he looked up and down the path they were on. "So, I guess that means you're a target, right?"

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Some things never change."

"Oh, but they do." The Hufflepuff Champion contradicted him. "Whoever it is, set you up so that Weasley and Granger can't be with you. Someone wants you alone."

Harry thought about it for a few seconds before Cedric continued. "I don't think I'm going to allow it to happen. We're going to stick together and get you out safely."

"Don't worry about it," Harry protested. "I can handle it myself."

"Look, I know you defeated a basilisk, a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who was possessed by Voldemort, and even, if the rumor is true, saved a Hippogriff named Buckbeak; but you didn't do any of it on your own."

"How did you know about Buck—?"

"So you _did_ save Buckbeak!"

"Yeah, but—"

"That one was as much a guess as anything else, but you and the Weasleys aren't the only ones who have the ability to find out things around here. Nothing stays a secret at this school for too long."

Harry grunted his amusement as the older Champion continued. "Look, I care more about us living than winning this tournament and two wands are better than one. What do you say?"

Harry thought about for couple seconds. "Fine, but if we find the cup, you can take it. I just want it to be over."

Cedric chuckled. "We'll argue about that _if_ we find the cup."

They walked back up the path, tracing their steps. Harry led, pointing his wand and illuminating the way. It seemed but a few minutes later they heard Fleur screaming.

The two young wizards raced to the end of their path, weaving back and forth through the paths until they found Fleur, levitating four feet in the air. A spell had laid dormant on the ground, waiting for someone to walk over it.

Harry reached out to take her hand, but a nasty shock lit up his body and hurtled him backwards.

Cedric pointed his wand at Fleur. "_Finite Incantatem_."

The Beauxbatons Champion dropped unceremoniously to the ground with a thud. Cedric knelt to make sure she was okay.

"_Quelle était cette_?_"_

"_Excusez-moi_?" Harry asked. It was the only French he knew.

"What was zhat?" Fleur interpreted.

"I think the more important question is," Cedric began, looking at Harry, "how many things like this have you come across?"

"Five or six, I think, why do you ask? You have had the same, no?"

"I haven't," Harry answered in a small voice. He was sick to his stomach at the thought of the three Champions enduring the dark spells and creatures on his account. "I haven't come across anything worse than a Boggart and I walked through this very spot twenty minutes ago."

"What is the meaning of this?" Fleur looked from Harry to Cedric, then back to Harry.

"I think it means we stick together," Cedric said. "Someone is trying to get Harry to the middle of the maze, alone. With the number of dark creatures I've seen, I doubt it's so he can get another article in _The Daily Prophet_."

Harry shot Cedric a dirty look, Cedric winked and smirked back at him.

"'Arry, you said you were just 'ere?"

"Yeah."

She thought for a few more seconds before asking, "But who would be after you? You're just—"

"A leetle boy?" Harry spat out, cutting her off and mocking her accent. He rolled his eyes and walked up the path to the next break in the hedges. He waited there, keeping an eye out for anything coming towards them, but he could still hear their conversation.

"I didn't mean it like that—only 'e's fourteen. Who would want to 'arm a fourteen year old boy?" Fleur asked, sounding defensive.

"I would never call him that," Cedric contradicted. "That 'boy' has gone up against more dark magic his first two years here than half the Wizarding world did during the war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry's pulled off some amazing feats. Your sister was the second life he saved in the last two years and the much easier one to save at that."

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "Stop teasing, Cedric. I know 'e saved my sister, but. . . ." Her voice faded out.

"And you were there, no?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I wasn't, but—"

"Then anything could 'ave happened. After the lake, I believe 'Arry would risk himself for anyone, but stories get carried away sometimes, no?"

"They don't with him, he downplays just about everything. Come, walk with me."

Harry turned around as they approached him.

"Thank you for helping me," Fleur began.

"It's not a big deal," he mumbled.

She glanced at Cedric. "I still thank you. Cedric says that you've fought dark creatures before?"

Harry flashed Cedric a "Why did you tell her" look, not realizing he was confirming Cedric's words to Fleur.

"Then it's true? So, are they after you again?"

"All I know is that I didn't put my name in the Goblet last fall and now, the paths are being cleared for me to get to the cup while you all are dealing with dark spells and creatures that most definitely would not have been approved by Dumbledore."

"Madame Maxime would not 'ave approved them either. I think you're right Cedric, we must stay together and find zhe exit."

Cedric shook his head. "The exit'll be blocked. I think our best bet is to find Krum and all four of us forfeit."

"_Non_, the magic will not allow that, remember? We must finish the tournament."

"Then let's find Krum and be finished," Harry interjected. He raised his wand and whispered _Lumos,_ then took the lead as the three of them continued through the maze.

Five minutes later, the three of them were staring at Victor Krum, who had them at wand point, but instead of cursing them, he fell to his knees.

"_Nein_! I vill not! I vill not!" After a few more moments, Krum shouted out again. "_Nein_!"

He fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

"Krum?" Cedric called out, his wand raised, now standing in front of Harry and Fleur.

"Ja,"

"What happened?"

"I tink, _Imperious_ Curse. Wanted me look for you and Veela."

Harry felt his insides knot up.

"Is someone after the two of you?" Krum asked, before turning to Harry. "Or is someone trying to get you alone?"

"How did you figure that out?" Harry asked.

"I vatched your reactions the night you were chosen for the tournament. Someone has planned something for you, don't they?"

"That's what we think," Cedric answered, "and it's why we've decided to stay together. You with us?"

"_Ja_, I think it is good idea."

"I'll take lead," Harry said, swallowing the bile that was now rising in his throat. "The maze seems to respond to my presence."

A few minutes later, Fleur called out, "I see it. There's the cup!"

Harry saw it too, about the same time he heard the sharp intake of breath from the three other Champions. They had finally realized that the hedges really were thinning out for him.

The four of them walked to the end of the path, made a right, doubled back, and then made a left. One more turn and they were standing in front of the cup.

"Who should take it?" wondered Fleur. "I don't think I want it now."

"Harry," Krum and Cedric said at the same time.

"It vould be shock to those who thought they vould catch him," Krum explained.

"No," Harry protested, "We made it through the maze together, we should take it together."

"Are you sure?" Fleur asked.

"Yeah. Either that, or none of us are going to take it and we'll end up sitting here all night."

Cedric laughed, "Cheeky little Fourth Year aren't you? Well, if that's our only option to get out of here, then I think it's a smashing good plan."

They surrounded the cup and Harry ended up facing Fleur.

"Gabrielle will love that 'Arry is such a gentleman. I will 'ave to work 'ard to protect you."

She winked at Harry.

On cue, Harry blushed and the other Champions began to laugh. He joined in after a few moments and they all laughed harder than they'd laughed all year. A wave of relief washed over Harry. They had made it, safe.

"Ready for the tournament to be over?" Harry asked.

"Ever since seeing the dragon in the first task," Fleur answered.

They all reached for the cup together.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The darkness was overwhelming. Harry lay on the ground, barely able to see the Tri-Wizard cup that doubled as a Portkey. It sat on its side on the crest of a little hill on which they had landed. Fleur and Krum disappeared down the incline. Hopefully they were okay.

"I didn't see that coming," Cedric mumbled at Harry's side.

"Neither did I." Harry lifted his head and looked around, but he was too disoriented to notice anything out of the ordinary until a voice, high, cold, and straight out of Harry's nightmares, greeted him.

"Welcome, little Harry Potter. I've been waiting for you to complete my return."

Harry flipped over and pushed himself up off the ground, raising his wand to face Voldemort.

What he saw instead, was a bevy of Death Eaters standing between him and . . . that thing. Whatever it was, it wasn't human.

"Come now," the cold voice taunted, "let's not let such a thing as distaste in my appearance come between such old friends, shall we, Harry Potter? We have so much history together for one who was as young as you when we first met."

Harry instinctively circled away from the cup and the other three Champions, hoping they'd be smart enough to keep their heads down and not be spotted.

"Master," a small, frightened voice interrupted. "It is done. The wards are down."

Harry thought hard about cursing Wormtail on the spot. He didn't care about falling wards. Standing before him now, were the two beings most responsible for the death of his parents.

He seethed with rage.

"So much anger, little Harry Potter," chastised Voldemort with a mockery of paternal concern. "Be careful, or you might turn out. . ."—he paused, looking at all the Death Eaters standing around him, then grinned wickedly—". . . like me."

Sycophant laughter filled the night.

"BIND HIM!" Voldemort ordered.

Harry was hit with too many _Incarcerous _Spells to count. He fell over and rolled down the slight incline of the graveyard two or three times before coming to a stop. He was close enough that Cedric could hear him if he whispered, but he had to make it fast.

"Go, slide down to the bottom of the hill. Don't stay here for this."

Harry barely finished before he was picked up by a spell and thrown against a headstone.

"Don't you think it is appropriate, little Harry Potter, since you almost put me in the grave that my incarnation should happen in a grave yard?"

Harry didn't give him the dignity of a response.

Voldemort let out a small, private laugh that meant for only Harry and him before turning to the closest Death Eater. "Lucius, I believe it is time. Take your sister-in-law and exact the purging you've been wishing for."

Bellatrix cackled with laughter, along with thirty Death Eaters who had walked out of Azkaban earlier in the evening when the Dementors changed allegiances, and many others that Harry couldn't see.

Most of them Disapparated with Lucius, leaving only ten Death Eaters with Voldemort. Two of them set about a cauldron that was boiling, stirring it and adding the finishing touches.

"My Lord, we are ready."

"After so many years," Voldemort mused, "and to think, I have the pleasure of Harry Potter's blood to make it happen."

Harry struggled desperately to remove the ropes that bound him. Twice he could see one of the other Champions trying to reach him, but Harry shook his head each time. Helping him would only betray their safety. If he were to escape, he'd do it alone rather than risk the lives of others.

Harry watched as Cedric began his rescue attempt, but Harry shook his head again. Cedric understood, but was not happy with the circumstances. He pulled himself over the crest and down the hill, leaving Harry alone.

A wand came up and a spell was cast. Harry gritted his teeth as the Death Eater cut his forearm. Blood flowed freely down over his wrist and hand. The Death Eater caught it in a vial and walked over to the cauldron.

After another stir, a second Death Eater lowered into the cauldron a small, grotesque Voldemort hissing in pain. The first Death Eater waited until his master was fully immersed, then turned the vial upside down and poured the blood in.

The contents of the cauldron turned red and began to froth and bubble violently. Distortions appeared everywhere Harry looked. The ground crumpled like a piece of paper. The trees in the distance folded in on themselves. Harry felt a pressure as if the very fabric of the universe was twisting, pulling, threatening to snap in its transition into another reality. Then he realized that was exactly what was happening.

Death had been cheated.

Voldemort rose, tall and strong. He levitated himself out of the cauldron and reached for his wand, which Wormtail handed to him.

"And now, Wormtail, for your reward."

A look of sheer joy and greed grew in Peter Pettigrew's eyes.

"_Avada Kedavra." _

Wormtail fell to the ground, dead.

"I have no use for those who would betray their best friends. They can't be trusted," he mocked.

Harry looked on in absolute horror. He spared no feelings for Pettigrew, but was sickened by the ease with which Voldemort killed him.

"Now, what shall we do with you?" Voldemort taunted Harry. He waved his wand and the ropes fell off. Harry stood up and moved back towards the spot where he'd been bound and dropped his wand.

He almost made it when he saw Voldemort's hand move. Harry's survivor instincts kicked in and he dove to the ground, fetching his own wand and shouting a curse at Voldemort.

A streak of red light shot out of his wand, but the newly enfleshed Dark Lord fended it off easily.

"If you want to duel with me, little Harry Potter, then face me like a wizard and duel."

Harry stood up, but no sooner did he get to his feet then Voldemort hit him with the _Cruciatus _Curse.

Harry had just enough time to gain his breath before he was cursed again, and again, and again.

**~ . ~ . ~**

At the bottom of the hill, the other three Champions watched as the sky lit up with curses and cringed at the sound of Harry's voice rasping and growling, though he refused to scream.

"Ve must rescue him. I von't leave him to die."

"_Oui_, but 'ow?

"I have a plan," Cedric announced. "Spread out along this hill. On my signal, we rush to the top and engage from three different angles."

"That will probably get us all killed," Fleur said, but a couple of seconds later she conceded. "I can't think of anything else. Let's go get our fourth Champion."

Cedric smirked. "I may have to take back everything I said about the French."

"Why?" she asked. "I'm Veela, not French." Her silent laughter ended as she heard more curses slam into his body, followed by Harry growling in pain. She glanced up to see the colors dancing against the backdrop of the black sky, hoping that green had been left out of the macabre rainbow.

"Alright, can the two of you Apparate?"

"_Oui_."

"_Ja_."

"Good. As soon as I can get to Harry, I'll side-Apparate him back, but we can't Apparate into Hogwarts. Do you remember where the three of us met last fall, just beyond the school gates on the road to Hogsmeade? Apparate there."

"_Sehr gut_. I vill take the left side."

"Then I will take the right side."

They spread out below the hill and on Cedric's signal, raced up it.

Krum, having spent his educational life in Durmstrang, had no issues about the use of a killing curse. Fleur, living in France and thus, under different laws, felt free to cast it as well. It was legal in Wizarding Europe when faced with a mortal threat. Cedric was a Hufflepuff and Harry was in danger. Loyalty knows no bounds, laws be damned. And the moment they could see over the hill, three Death Eaters were dead before they hit the ground.

Cedric came up closest to Harry and took aim on a second Death Eater as he ran towards the younger Champion, but Voldemort's wand sliced through the air. The green curse hit Cedric and he fell back down the hill, his eyes staring blankly at the night sky.

**~ . ~ . ~**

Harry raged and his magic magnified as he began firing curse after curse, his pain all but forgotten in his anger, but Voldemort continued to deflect his curses as the Death Eaters tried to engage the younger, faster Champions.

To his right, Fleur killed another Death Eater and was making her way over to Harry when Voldemort turned to cast the Killing Curse at her.

Harry saw it before it happened and in that moment, something broke loose from within. The first curse he could think of exploded from his wand.

"_Crucio!_"

Time slowed down as Harry watched his curse reach out and touch Voldemort, sending him to his knees. At the same moment, Harry realized two truths. One, when he really meant it, his spells were much more powerful; especially dark spells cast in hatred and anger. Two, as soon as this spell was over, Harry was going to die either instantly, or a very slow, very painful death for these two seconds of victory.

He quickly cast another curse, hoping to avoid the second truth completely.

But Voldemort was too fast. He had already recovered and cast his own curse.

The ground shook as the two curses collided, exploding in multiple colors and sound. Harry felt his wand jerk in his hand, pulling him forward and almost to the ground. He noticed however, that the same thing happened to Voldemort. Then he realized why; their wands had linked together somehow through cast curses. He could feel Voldemort's power vibrating through the wand, both feeding him and tearing at him, but he could also feel the power that he had pushed through his wand attacking Voldemort.

The streaks of color from both wands began to merge and fade, turning almost translucent. Another sound rent the air and from the middle of the golden beam that now attached the two wands, a second beam struck the ground and began to expand. Like a lake being fed from a waterfall, it expanded in the blink of an eye and everything in its way exploded outwards as it encountered rocks, headstones, and even small trees.

Streaks of light lanced through the air, arcing over them and meeting twenty feet above the ground, trapping them as their wands stayed connected. Harry grabbed his with both hands, and thrust his magic through it towards Voldemort, surging it into the golden beam that hummed louder and louder as they battled in the strange duel.

Voldemort's magic fought against the surge, attempting to push it back towards Harry's wand. A magical harmonic vibrated back though the golden beam from the amount of magic pushed into it, and both wands now shook violently.

**~ . ~ . ~**

Fleur could see the remaining five Death Eaters who were looking around, unsure what to do. She looked over at Krum and together, they agreed silently to take advantage of the Death Eater's confusion. Moving to the side of the golden dome that now entrapped Harry, Fleur took aim and hit one of them with a stunner. Krum did the same on the other side, leaving only three Death Eaters left.

Fleur knew she had endured too much over the last few hours to keep this battle up much longer, but she pushed the thoughts out of her mind and re-gripped her wand, looking for another opportunity, but also hoping for a little more time before she had to grab Harry and Apparate. She was physically closest to him and as spent as her core was, she was afraid she would splinch herself attempting it. Just a little more time was all she needed.

But then another Death Eater moved towards her and Fleur fired another curse, weakening herself even more.

**~ . ~ . ~**

Harry's wand was vibrating even harder now as he forced his magic down the golden beam, attacking Voldemort in a more intimate way than he had ever thought possible, a primitive form of magical dueling that saturated the very air with energy, discharging in lightning that struck out towards the tombstones, the trees, even the sky itself. Harry was able keep enough control over it to direct it away from Fleur and Krum.

He re-doubled his efforts to push his magic again, calling on the best and worst parts of his life, mixing them together and empowering his magic to drive it down the golden beam—and it worked. His surge overtook Voldemort's and a blinding light flashed, along with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

It was his mother, instructing him of the only thing important in his life now; a command that he must not, cannot, allow the golden beam to break.

"I know. . . I know I mustn't," he gritted out.

The voice spoke again; this time accompanied by a sound he knew well, it was the phoenix song.

"_Ta bien-aimée fleur a besoin de temps pour récupérer, _You must keep the golden beam strong."

Harry didn't understand any of it except the last; and that, he understood well. He didn't know why, and yet he did. Deep down, he knew that somehow, his soul depended on him keeping this connection.

That left him with only one choice. He had to drive the surge forward. Harry thought he had poured all his magic into the battle, but now he found that he had an entirely different level to draw from as he began to chant to himself the words he had heard—_Ta bien-aimée_, _Ta bien-aimée—_the surge, which Voldemort had arrested in the golden beam, swelled again. Lightning still crackled in the air all around the dome, but Harry paid it no mind as he forced his renewed magic through the wand.

Louder, stronger, and now unaware, Harry repeated his mother's words, chanting it in time with the phoenix song, _Ta bien-aimée fleur a besoin de temps_. He gained strength from it, but also from the hatred that rose up against whatever was threatening the song.

Harry grew stronger, remembering that he had to mean it, remembering that his anger and hatred had empowered him before. The song and the chant faded out and with what felt like an explosion, Harry forced the surge to the tip of Voldemort's wand. It trembled for a moment . . . and then sank into the wand itself. The golden dome and beam discharged in one massive last burst of lightning, the concussive thunder shattering windows in the building on the other side of the graveyard and Voldemort, as if hit by a dragon in full flight, shot backwards over the heads of the Death Eaters.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur and Krum cast curses at the nearest approaching Death Eaters, forcing them to back off from Harry. Fleur ran, crashing into him and wrapping him in her arms, twisting in the air as they fell to the ground.

They Apparated to the gravel road just outside of Hogwarts. Fleur let go and caught herself as Harry slid across the ground and into the grassy bank.

"'Arry!" she cried out as she rushed over to the unmoving body and kneeled down.

No, No! He can't be splinched. He can't be!

She discarded modesty and ran her hands across his body, making sure he was whole.

With some effort, she rolled him over, leaned down, her face inches from his.

"Please 'Arry, wake up."

After a few more seconds passed, his eyes snapped open and he sat up with a start, before looking at Fleur, closing his eyes again and lying back down with moan.

"'Arry, stay with me!" she whispered.

"I'm fine, Fleur," he finally whispered bask. "I just don't have any strength left."

He opened an eye and gave her a little smile.

Despite all that had happened, or maybe because of it, she found herself captivated, trying to make sense of the little boy she saw in front of her, the man who had just bettered the darkest wizard in two generations in the most powerful duel she'd ever seen.

Footsteps from behind brought her attention back to the moment. She stood up and spun around, her wand at the ready, searching the darkened roadway for the noise.

"_Nein_! It's me!" Krum announced.

Fleur lowered her wand and turned back to Harry, kneeling by his side again

"You okay, Fleur?"

"Never mind me, can you make it to the castle?"

"I guess so, though I think I need help up."

Krum walked over and gave him a hand. Fleur took the other one and they helped him to his feet, but as he stood and looked back towards the school, she saw his legs tremble and then collapse, unable to support his weight. His face lost all color, but the worst part was the eyes. They went blank.

"_Scheiße_," Krum said, his voice faint and scared.

Fleur glanced at him, but he wasn't looking at Harry.

She followed his gaze, looking above the thick forest that sat between the road and Hogwarts. There, hanging over the ancient castle, was the Dark Mark—the silence from the stadium, the lights of which lit up the sky to her right, was deafening.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Alright, because I'm tired of getting people saying, "But . . . but . . . Krum was Bulgarian!" Yes, I know he was, and still is. Trust the author to know what he's doing with his characters. There's a very specific reason he speaks German here, and the history behind the Bulgarian/German issue will become very important later in the story.


	2. Dark Nights

.

**Chapter Two**

**Dark Nights**

The ethereal mark lingered among the clouds; an apocalyptic image of Harry's world. He ran to the school, through the gates now lacking wards, and up the path that spilled out onto the vast lawns between the castle and the Quidditch pitch. Krum and Fleur followed, trying to keep up, but Harry paid them no mind, preparing for the black reality that lay ahead and remembering those responsible for what he was about to find; "_Lucius, I believe it's time. . . ._"

Sprinting towards the bright but silent pitch, he tripped and fell, sliding across the slick grass. Harry looked behind him and saw that he had tripped over the body of a Death Eater. He looked again at the lawn; bodies were lying between the pitch and the Forbidden Forest in two haphazard lines. A battle had taken place; witches and wizards had come out of the stands to form a human wall, facing the approaching Death Eaters. Harry walked towards the heaviest concentration of the dead, steeling himself against the revulsion making his stomach churn as he came upon the smaller bodies of students.

History had repeated itself. Those whom he considered his family, lay dead in front of him. Six heads of red hair stood out as beacons among the fallen, their bodies spread across thirty yards of lawn, Death Eaters piled before them, a testimony to the determination and stubbornness of the Weasley family. Bill and Percy were barely recognizable. A few yards away and closer to the forest, Mr. Weasley lay on the ground, the lower half of his body missing.

**~ . ~ . ~**

Krum and Fleur approached silently as Harry moved down the line. Fleur could see each new recognition taking its toll as she watched him move from body to body, until he stood over the twin redheads still holding scorched wands. They had died as they lived, side by side.

Beyond the twins, lying on the ground were two other redheads and another witch. Fleur stepped towards them and recognized the three bodies. The first was the boy who had helped Harry get Gabrielle back to shore in the second task; the second was the brown, bushy-haired witch who was always with them, the friend whom Fleur had seen comfort Harry on numerous occasions and even teased her about Gabrielle's letters; the third was the little sister, the witch she'd caught Harry stealing glances at during the Yule ball.

Harry fell to his knees, crying, screaming in rage, anger, and pain. Fleur clutched a hand against her chest, fingers digging into her skin as if she was trying to reach in and hold her own heart together.

She didn't realize that she had begun walking towards Harry when Krum stopped her. "_Nein_, we need to check the grounds for anyone we can help. Leave him to mourn, he doesn't need see anything else."

She opened her mouth to argue, but caught herself. He was right. Regardless of how much Harry was hurting, there was no hope for the redheaded family now.

Krum moved off to the left, checking the shadows and kicking bodies of Death Eaters out of his way. She finally moved to the right, seeing faces she remembered from the Great Hall: a fourth year from Harry's House with an Irish accent, next to him his best friend, a young black wizard that was always kind to her.

_A_nd I never cared to speak to 'im, to any of them. _Mon Dieu__._

Twins of Indian descent lay next to them. Fleur remembered how pretty she thought they were, walking next to Harry and the redheaded boy at the Yule ball. Lying next to them was a blond witch without a face, or upper chest.

Fleur stopped and closed her eyes as nausea threatened to overtake her. Already, she knew the horrors she was seeing would haunt her dreams. A grunting sound made her spin around and look.

It was Harry, dragging his best-friends' body across the grass. He gently laid him next to his father and kneeled down.

Though faint, Fleur heard him whisper, "Goodbye, Ron. You were the first real friend I ever had, the best mate I could ever hope for."

He stood and walked back to the bushy-haired girl – Hermione, Fleur remembered. Carefully, as if she was made of the most brittle china, he picked her up and carried her body to lie next to Ron.

Fleur couldn't hear what he said this time, but she could see him fighting to hold back the tears, his love for the witch clear in his grief; then she watched as he lost the fight while carrying the youngest of the redheads back to her family.

'E's not much bigger then 'er. No boy should 'ave to do that, especially alone.

Decided, she hurried to Harry as he reached down and hooked one of the red-headed twins under the arms. Fleur knelt to pick up the legs.

"Don't touch him," Harry said, tears flowing freely now as he struggled with the twin, slipping and falling in the slick grass.

"Please 'Arry, let me 'elp."

"Just—" he stopped, and then started again, "just go help Krum, please?"

There was so much desperation in his voice that she found herself walking away, hoping that following his wishes would help, but knowing that hope was futile.

Fleur surveyed the human Maginot line, noticing more bodies thirty yards or so towards the pitch. All but one wore black robes and masks. She concentrated on the one body that lay in the middle of the others . . . and saw it move.

_It Moved!_ Fleur ran, her heart hammering in her chest at the thought of finding at least one person alive.

She knew who it was, too. "Professor Dumbledore!" she whispered fervently as she knelt.

He looked up at her. "Ms. Delacour, tell of the other Champions. Are they safe?"

"You need 'elp. Let me get—"

"I'm afraid"—he struggled to take a breath—"that it's too late for that. I have but a few breaths left. Please, tell me, are the Champions safe?"

"_Non_, Professor. Cedric didn't make it."

Pain lined his face as he heard the news.

"And Harry and Viktor?"

"Viktor is 'ere. 'Arry's too, but not so good I think."

She saw worry flash across Dumbledore's face. "'E's safe. But what 'e went through, no boy should 'ave to endure."

"I should like to know," Dumbledore wheezed.

"The cup was a Portkey. It took the four of us to a graveyard. A Death Eater used 'Arry's blood and. . ." –she choked back emotion– ". . . Voldemort is back."

Dumbledore closed his eyes.

When they opened again, he could only whisper. "Ms. Delacour, I need to know the details."

She told him everything that happened, including Harry's use of the _Cruciatus _Curse. As she finished her story, Dumbledore moved his hand, laying it on top of hers.

"I must charge you with a charge I have no right to lay, but every hope you will accept."

"_Quoi_?"

"Protect Harry. Only he can kill Voldemort."

She looked at him, dumbfounded.

"There is a prophecy—"

Fleur's heart sank.

"It was uttered soon before Harry was born. I am the only one who knows it. Now, you must too. If Harry has enough anger and hate to cast a _Cruciatus _Curse powerful enough to injure the darkest of dark wizards, even newly raised, I fear what he will become to exact revenge, but revenge is his destiny, or his destruction. It was foretold before his birth.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.' There were only two that were born as the seventh month died. Voldemort marked Harry."

"_Non! C'est pas vrai!_"*

"What is so hard to believe?"

"'E's so young."

"I have not much time left. You must understand, the power the Dark Lord knows not is Harry's love. But what he has endured, that love can be turned to hate for his enemy. It would be powerful, but it would consume him, making him very dark, and when Voldemort was killed, Harry would have no reason left to live."

There were no words to express her shock.

"Please bring Harry to me. I have a wrong I need to right."

"_Oui_." Fleur found Harry a few minutes later, staring over the lawn, talking to himself.

"They all died, Hufflepuff was loyal to the end, standing side-by-side with Gryffindor. Bodies of first years are in the forest - can't find Professor McGonagall or Mrs. Weasley . . . think they tried to save the younger children. . . but too many of them are dead . . . Ravenclaw was smart, always smart . . . in the trees – able to see better higher up I suppose . . . providing protection for firsties . . . they're all dead. I can't get their bodies down. . . ."

Harry fell silent.

Without saying a word, Fleur took him by the hand and led him to Dumbledore, then backed away, sensing this conversation wasn't for her to overhear.

A few minutes later, she saw Harry reach into his robe and pull out a vial. Dumbledore was explaining something to him and Harry put his wand to Dumbledore's temple. Fleur read his lips as he instructed Harry on using the incantation, assuring Harry that his own magic would do most of the work.

When Harry pulled his wand back, a long, silvery smoke like substance followed the tip. He put it in the vial and sealed it, but seemed unable or unwilling to put it in his pocket.

Fleur stepped closer to take the vial, and overheard Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry Harry. I know the abuse you suffered with the Dursleys. I know of the beatings, of how they refused to care for you. I was afraid to remove you, trusting the blood wards. But is living mere breath? Or is it allowing the soul to breathe? I have not allowed you to live. Sad that on one's deathbed, sight finally becomes clear. Forgive an old man his foolish mistakes Harry, I beg of you."

"Of, of course, Professor," Harry stuttered.

"Thank you. Now I believe it is time I move on to my next great adventure."

"No! You can't die!"

"I can, and I must. Remember Harry, the greatest magic is love, and you always have a choice, even a choice to love and be loved." Dumbledore closed his eyes, exhaled, and was gone forever.

Fleur saw Harry slowly look up. The way his eyes used to dance, the way they seemed to smile even when he didn't, it was all gone. Emotion drained from his face, his body, leaving him an empty shell.

"I have to go to his office," he informed her in a monotone.

Krum came up behind Fleur as Harry walked away.

"How is he doing?"

"I think, I think 'Arry's 'eart just died."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry walked down the corridor, whispered a password, then up the spiral stairs and into Dumbledore's office. He pulled the same Pensieve he'd seen earlier in the year out of the cabinet and poured the memories into it, then followed them into it. At first, Harry thought he'd done it wrong since he found himself once again standing in the office. Then, looking around, he noticed Dumbledore sitting at his desk, reading. The book contained some of the darkest magic Harry had ever heard of. He watched as Dumbledore took notes, then leaned in and read the word, "Horcruxes."

Harry looked back at the book and found the definition. He was mortified.

The memory dissipated and another came into view. This time, the memory of Harry was standing in Dumbledore's office, explaining what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry begged for an escape from the pain as he watched himself, Ron, Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley all standing before him, safe and alive.

Mercifully, the memory faded and another bled in. Dumbledore was examining the diary, staring at it and reading the same book on the Dark Arts. Then the scene changed again.

The memory of Harry was again in Dumbledore's office. It was the scene from just a few weeks ago. He was telling Dumbledore about his scar. Harry watched as the memory of himself left and Dumbledore leaned back in his seat, removed his glasses, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Harry continued to watch as Dumbledore mumbled a password, then opened a drawer and pulled out the book again. He thumbed through it to the now worn pages on Horcruxes, then stopped and sighed.

Harry leaned in to read.

_Accidental Horcruxes: An accidental Horcrux can be created when, just after a Horcrux has been completed and the remaining soul is still unstable, the wizard murders again. If another powerful element of magic becomes entangled in the killing act (for instance, certain Druid or Gaelic rituals, blood wards, or mimetic magic) a Horcrux may be formed. However, the one who accidentally created the Horcrux most likely will not know of its creation or location, as the soul is already split by the first murder._

He looked up to see Dumbledore staring at the book, shaking his head.

The memory faded out and another began. Now he was in a run-down, dusty room on top of a bar and Dumbledore sat across the table from a young Sybil Trelawney.

As Harry listened to the prophecy, two basic facts stood out. First, he had to kill Voldemort. Second, in order for Voldemort to die, the part of Voldemort's soul in Harry had to die.

Harry winced, remembering how he destroyed the last Horcrux. Would this be his death too?

As he thought about it, the scene flashed again. This memory was hazy, as if it wasn't intended to be passed on. Harry recognized Dumbledore, rushing out of the stadium, but standing behind a line of wizards and witches as they began fighting with black-robed entities. At first, Harry couldn't understand why Dumbledore wasn't fighting. But as he looked toward the forest, he noticed first and second years running that way and Dumbledore straining to cast invisibility charms, protective charms, and just about every other charm necessary to get them into the forest, all the while trying to conduct a search for the Champions and instructing those up front fighting.

But even Field Marshals die in war. Dementors descended out of the skies, most of them focusing on Dumbledore. Death Eaters had looped around the end of the line of students and parents, coming at him from one side while others had broken through the wall, coming at him from another.

He had a choice to save himself, or save more students. He took the latter, and was hit with numerous curses.

The memory dissipated and Harry found himself clutching Dumbledore's desk for support, the Pensieve before him. He quickly searched the desk and found Dumbledore's notes and the book in the bottom drawer, guarded by the same password he heard the Headmaster speak in the memory. He put both in his pocket and retrieved the memory before heading to the library.

Harry lowered his wand and blasted the library doors off the hinges, then went straight to the restricted section where he pulled out every book he could find on Dark Magic. He looked through them for Horcruxes, but also read other spells and articles that concerned revenge, visiting death on the enemy, and empowering magic through anger and hate.

They made him think about what happened in the graveyard, how his magic increased when he wanted revenge against Voldemort and Wormtail. With an arm full of the darkest books he could find to research both Horcruxes and the effects of his anger on his magic, Harry left.

He wandered in the corridor, not knowing what to do, but flashes of light on the lawns below caught his eye. He looked out the window and saw Fleur and Krum dueling Death Eaters.

Harry pulled out his wand. "_Accio _Firebolt!"

He sent a blasting curse through the window. As soon as his broom arrived, he mounted it, but as he went to kick off, most of the books fell out of his hand. There was no time to pick them up, but the two he still held, were the most promising.

_A Dark Journey to Power_ was the first one, a biography of the darkest wizards through the ages. The author had been a little (well, actually far more than a little) too descriptive in explaining their methods.

The second book was _Gebringang-pinere, _"Birther of torment." An Old English book that had sat on the shelves of the Hogwarts library since Salazar Slytherin himself put it there out of his own personal library.

Harry left the rest of the books behind, shrunk these two, and slid them into his robes with the other book, then kicked off and flew through the broken window and straight at the Death Eaters whose backs were turned to him.

"_Stupefy_!"

He cast the spell three times, stunning three of the seven Death Eaters before two others turned, the last two still engaging the other Champions. Harry pushed down on the broom, diving to the ground at tremendous speed and then pulled to the right. Finally, he pulled back on the broom and went ballistic, straight up into the night. Multiple colors of curses followed him, but the Death Eaters were too slow. Now hidden by the clouds, Harry flattened out, turned, shot back over a hundred yards, spun underneath the broom and then pulled, dropping the nose of the broom and diving back to the ground behind the Death Eaters again in a not so wide arc.

As he came level to the ground and raised his wand, Krum took a green curse in the face. He fell backwards, joining Cedric and others in death.

"_Incendio_!" screamed Harry. The curse erupted out of his wand and the first Death Eater lit up the night, his robes burning like a torch, the screams were short-lived and he too fell over dead.

The compunction to exact revenge surged through Harry as he prepared to cast the next curse. He'd never cast it before. Mad-eye had only taught them about it a few months earlier. But somehow, as if an intimate knowledge awoke, Harry completely understood the killing curse.

What he didn't know, what he couldn't know, was that he _did _know the curse intimately. Since he was the only one who had ever survived it, no one else knew the consequences of surviving the curse, knew that if a person did survive, the protection mechanism in the deepest part of a human's soul would remember the curse, in case he or she was ever faced with the need to use it or be killed by it again, like tonight. That knowledge also awoke the Horcrux and it too fed Harry's rage and hate.

He screamed the words.

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

The Death Eater crumpled to the ground.

Clearing the rest of them by a few feet, Harry raced to Fleur, turned and landed, wand in the air. He threw his broom to Fleur.

"Go, take my broom and leave."

He was met with a trilling, half-spoken, half-whistled response punctuated with sharp clicks. Harry risked a glance to his left and saw Fleur, no longer beautiful, and no longer truly able to be called human. She had transformed nearly as much as the full-blooded Veela, though she sadly lack the ability to cast fire.

Fleur saw him glance over and responded, in English this time. "One bee makes no swarm. I am not leaving."

The last two remaining Death Eaters, caught off guard by Fleur's transformation and Harry's appearance, went back on the attack. But Harry had already acted.

"_Serpensortia_!"

The largest snake he had ever seen shot out of his wand. He gave it a command in Parseltongue and the snake coiled, then launched at the nearest Death Eater, biting him in the arm.

Fleur's trilling and whistling increased dramatically.

The Death Eater cast two more curses before seizing and falling to the ground.

Fleur blocked a curse headed for Harry, then sidestepped another.

"Go, leave me to this, it's not your battle," Harry yelled again.

Without knowing how he did it, Harry gathered the magic within him and held it back, damming it up, and then released it in a curse that knocked the last Death Eater out cold.

Fleur grabbed Harry by the arm and shoved his broom back in his hand. "You're coming with me and we're leaving, now!"

Harry decided not to argue and instead, mounted the broom again with Fleur sitting behind him, and the two of them kicked off, flying toward the lake. He skimmed over it, then turned to the right and gained altitude, flying over Hogsmeade and into the mountains where he guided them to a small opening in the rocks. He landed, slipped off the broom, and disappeared into the shadows.

Fleur followed, hearing him quietly calling out, "Sirius? Are you here?"

Harry knelt at the back of the cave; he picked up a newspaper that had a full story about the last task, including the date. Sirius would have been there to watch his godson.

"Oh god, not you too!"

"'Arry, what is this place, who is Sirius?"

It took Harry a few moments before he found his voice.

"Black. Sirius Black."

"'E's the _Vulgaire_ murderer, no?"

Harry threw the newspaper down. "NO! He was not a murderer! Sirius Black was my Godfather."

Fleur looked at him as if he were a five-year old spinning a fanciful tale.

"I don't care if you believe me or not!" Harry barked.

He couldn't say anything else. Everyone he loved was dead and the one who killed them was once again alive. There was much vengeance to be had, even if Harry had to die getting it. But how could he do it? He was just one person, one fourteen year old wizard.

But what had just happened? Something had almost taken over inside of him when he cast—

Harry's eyes went wide at the realization of what he had done. He had killed someone. More than one, and used the killing curse to do it. Did his soul split? What was happening to him?

Harry fretted over the question, until he realized the key word he had read in the book earlier. It had come up in other articles as well. _Murder. _Not self-defense, but murder split the soul. Tonight, he was fighting in defense of himself and two others.

But what _did _happen? Where did the infusion of power come from? _The Horcrux? Was that it? _he wondered.

"Harry?"

Harry felt himself shaking and realized that Fleur was standing in front of him, her hands on his shoulders. Harry didn't answer. He was too overwhelmed and had no one to go to now, not Dumbledore, nor Ron, nor Hermione, nor even Sirius. Harry slid down the wall to the floor, unable to move in the realization that he was truly alone again.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

An hour later, Fleur was sitting close to a small fire she had conjured to keep warm. Basic wards were set at the entrance, enough to stop any sound, or the light of the fire from giving them away. Harry never moved nor said a word.

"I think we should Apparate out of England, no?" Fleur ask, but she didn't expect Harry to answer as she gazed into the fire, thinking about her new responsibility. How will she protect a little. . . _non_, not _little_. Everything she saw and learned about Harry over the last three hours rushed back into her thoughts. Harry had faced some very dark magic twice before this year; then this year, he was forced compete in a tournament that should have been way above his skill level; he had just faced down Voldemort and won in a duel of wills, if not wands; he was a Parseltongue who could cast and control monstrous snakes at will in battle; finally, he had just killed two Death Eaters; and most of his magic this evening was done _after_ being hit with the _Cruciatus _Curserepeatedly by the darkest wizard in generations.

Fleur shivered at the thought of what Harry had endured during his life, let alone over the last few hours. 'E's so powerful and so young, but seen so much all ready. I can't let 'im suffer through this 'imself.

After another half an hour of chasing her thoughts around and around, Fleur gave up, exhausted. She stood up and shook the dust from her cloak. "I think we should get some sleep."

Harry didn't respond, though he began to shiver. Fleur decided on heat over modesty. She transfigured two rocks into pillows and a few others into blankets, placing one on the floor of the cave and three others on top of it. Then she took her robe, laid it on the very top, and crawled in between the sheets, looking at Harry.

"This is for you, too, 'Arry. Come, you are freezing."

Harry didn't move. "I'll sleep here," he mumbled, shivering again.

"That's foolish. You'll get sick."

Harry snorted.

And Fleur cheated.

"Please 'Arry, come lay down," she said again in a soft, velvet type voice with a slight echo. She looked more beautiful than Harry had ever seen.

It wasn't as strong as the previous summer, when Harry almost threw himself from the box he was sitting in at the World Cup, thanks to the dancing Veela, but the Veela magic entranced Harry again, drawing him to her.

He hesitated, fighting the magic. Fleur raised an eyebrow, surprised at his ability to resist and let out more of her Veela magic. "Come 'Arry, it will be okay."

Harry stood and took two steps, then stopped again, fixing her with a glare. "Do you always lure leetle boys to bed with your Veela magic?"

The Veela attraction ceased immediately. Fleur's look hardened and she turned over to face the wall. "Then go ahead an' get sick and die if you don't know the difference between those who care and those who would 'arm you."

Harry snorted again, but this time Fleur heard so much more in it, remembering what she had overheard; Dumbledore had asked his forgiveness for putting Harry with that family. They must have been relations if there were blood wards involved, but why would they abuse him? Didn't they know what happened? Didn't they care?

She decided that Harry's life was beyond her and something she would not be able to understand; not her. Fleur had to deal with . . . what? People thinking she was beautiful? Wizards asking her to dances? How dare she feel so put upon when Harry suffered so much, and still had cared so much for others?

She pushed the blankets back, stood up and walked over to Harry.

"That was foolish for me to say. I just . . ." but she ran out of words and for the first time in her life, realized how much rejection hurt.

It must have been clear on her face as well, because what Fleur's Veela magic couldn't do, the raw pain accomplished. Harry stood up and walked over to the makeshift bed and lay down, though still not saying a word.

Fleur lay next to him, then leaned into him and put her arm over him and pulled him into her to stop his shivering. "I think Gabrielle would be jealous, no? Don't worry 'Arry, I won't tell her if you don't. Anyway, it's for your body 'eat, not your body."

In the light of the fire, she saw him blush, despite his anger. No matter how dreadful the day was, no matter the amount of loss he had experienced, underneath it all, Harry was a fourteen-year-old wizard being spooned by a seventeen-year-old beautiful Veela in a cave, alone, in a makeshift bed. Harry's body started reacting in ways that took him by surprise, physical longings made themselves known throughout his body for the first time.

"Comfortable, 'Arry?" Fleur asked, with a hint of humor. Her Veela heritage gave her the ability to smell the hormones that she was setting off in him. She could guess the rest of his reactions.

Harry grunted in response, but a few minutes later, he surprised her by talking.

"Tomorrow, I want you to take my broom and go back to France."

"What about you?" she asked.

"I've been on my own since I was a child and I'm not dead yet, I'll take care of myself."

"That is not an option. You saved my life today, no? I'm not going to leave you."

"I saved your life?"

Fleur was surprised at the hostility in his voice as he continued.

"I saved no one's life. I got Cedric and Krum murdered. The whole of Hogwarts is dead because of me."

"Non, 'Arry, you can't blame yourself."

"My mum died because of me, my best friend almost died in a real life game of chess because of me and Voldemort, the next year his little sister was almost killed by Voldemort so I could be blamed for being a part of Dark Magic. Now, they're all dead. What do you mean I can't blame myself?"

"'Arry. . . wait, this was the third time you faced 'im?" Her voice was thick with surprise as she wondered how he could face _him_, three different times and live.

"You can't keep this up very long."

"I don't need to," he said cryptically.

She put her hand on Harry's arm. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing."

"Then why did . . . ow! what is that?" Fleur felt under her hip for what she thought was a rock. Instead, she found that she had leaned against the pocket of his robe.

"What is in the pocket of your robe?"

"Just some things. . . Fleur, don't!"

It was too late. She had already pulled the books out and was inspecting them by the light of her wand. Fleur countered the shrinking charm to see them better, then shot a glare at Harry.

Her French accident deepened at the shot of emotion that jolted through her. "What ees zees 'Arry? I 'ave zeen zhis book. Eet ees not for good wizards."

"There are things happening here that you have no idea about; blood wards and dreams, to begin with. I can't run from this. Voldemort and I are linked in ways you'll never understand.

He paused and then continued in a quiet but resolute voice. "I am the only one that can kill Voldemort. Dumbledore knew it too."

Fleur was transfixed by his depth of commitment to what amounted to a path of suicide, all because of a stupid prophecy. But she was also a quick learner, continuing this discussion would only incite him more.

"Let's go to sleep. Tomorrow, we'll figure out what we're doing, yes? But I will not leave you 'ere if I go back to France, whatever we decide."

Harry finally agreed to go to sleep and deal with it in the morning. He laid down again and she put her arm back over him, drawing him in to her to make sure he didn't leave in the middle of the night. To make doubly sure, she draped a leg over him too, aware of the reaction she was also drawing from his body.

But that was fine with her. After what he'd seen today, she knew she had to chase away the memories from his dreams so he could rest, at least for tonight.

Dream, Harry did, but none of them included Voldemort, the graveyard, or the scene at Hogwarts; Fleur made sure of it. She let her Veela magic out just a little, to keep his mind on her instead of the hell that his life had become.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Come 'Arry, it's time to wake up," someone whispered softly the next morning.

"Hmfffted. Leave me alone, Ron," Harry answered and buried his head in his pillow.

Only, it didn't feel like a pillow. Whatever he was now nuzzling into didn't smell like a pillow either. It smelled wonderful, and felt wonder—oh dear god no!

Harry opened an eye to find himself using Fleur as his pillow.

She bit back her laughter as Harry turned white, then looked up at her with fear in his eyes.

"Did you sleep well?"

"I, uh, I think," he stammered, then quickly pulled away and stood up.

A small chuckle slipped out and she stood up. They retrieved their robes and began to plan their next step.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, knowing how much pain his next sentence was about to bring him. "We should go to the Burrow."

"What is that?"

"Remember the family of redheads that looked like they had taken on half the Death Eaters last night?"

"Yeah. One of them was the young man who helped you save my sister."

Harry grimaced. "The Burrow is where they lived and it might still be warded. They keyed them to recognize me last summer. I think we should go there. We can eat, get cleaned up, and decide what to do next."

Fleur nodded. "That sounds good, but 'ow are we going to get there?"

"It's back in England, too far to fly by broom, especially in daylight. If you trust your Apparition enough, we can Apparate to the field behind the Burrow."

The two of them went about trying to erase any sign they had been there, putting out the fire, and removing the wards.

Finally, after Harry had described the field in detail; he took a hold of his broom and Fleur put his arm under hers. She concentrated on the field behind the Burrow, a place she had never seen before. With a crack, the two of them Disapparated from the cave. . . .

. . . And were now standing in a field. Harry turned around, and was hit square in the chest with grief. He struggled to gain his breath as tears threatened to break through. In front of him stood the Burrow. He could still see the makeshift Quidditch goals that Ron, the twins, and he had used the previous summer. The back fence that they had sent many a gnome flying over stood as a testimony to how life should have been, secure and in place. Harry forced himself to swallow the pain, to store it in order to feed off it later.

He led off with wand in hand, walking through the back gate and crossing the backyard. Slowly, carefully, he opened the backdoor and walked into the kitchen. Harry turned back to look at Fleur, but a quick flurry of movement brought his attention forward and he found himself staring down the business end of two wands leveled at his face.

Neither owner had red hair.


	3. To Put Away Childish Things

.

**Chapter Three**

**To Put Away Childish Things**

Reflexes honed by sport and heightened by peril compelled Harry to dive. Spinning and drawing his wand, he let one, then two spells loose before hitting the floor. Two _Protego _Charms appeared just in time to deflect the curses.

The shields disappeared immediately and wands were twisted in the air, preparing to rain down hexes on Harry. He brought his wand back up swiftly, casting his own _Protego _Shield as he pushed himself off the ground and further to the left.

But no spell was cast, they had anticipated the move; Harry was out of options—

—and Fleur knew it as she cleared the entryway. There wasn't a moment's hesitation before all three wizards in the room were dumbstruck by the goddess standing before them, but only for a moment. Anger and fear surged through her and the draw of the Veela ceased. It was long enough however, to gain the advantage. Fleur disarmed the two wizards—or one of them, at least—snatching the wand out of the air. Then she noticed the other wizard had already gained control over himself.

She turned her attention and her wand toward him. "Curse 'im and die you filthy pig," she threatened.

Both assailants were motionless and slack-jawed, but they weren't looking at Fleur.

"Harry?" one of them asked.

"SIRIUS!"

Fleur gasped as Harry scrambled off the floor and launched into the air. Sirius caught and held him tightly, crying at the sight of his godson.

"Oh, Merlin's arse, Harry, I thought we lost you forever."

"Harry," the other man sighed his name in relief.

"Professor Lupin!" he shouted. A moment later, Harry was engulfed in the arms of two wizards who were crying openly and without shame.

Fleur lowered her wand and blinked to clear the moisture in her own eyes, then noticed Harry. It was only the second time she'd seen him smile like he was now; a real and unadulterated smile. The last time was in the first task. Fleur had made her way back to the stands to watch the others compete. She watched as Harry faced off with his dragon, fascinated as the look on his face transformed when he mounted his broom. His smile was infectious and Fleur couldn't help but smile with him. The same was true today, and more. Not only did the corners of her lips pulled back, but a warmth spread through her, as if Harry's smile was the most important thing in her world. _It's only naturalle that it should be_—she convinced herself—_at least_ '_e is with someone who loves 'im now. . ._

_Or is he? Why does that not feel true?_

Always one to trust her instincts, Fleur watched closely, preparing herself against any unseen danger. But after observing them some more, she could plainly see how much these two grown wizards loved Harry. Whatever the problem was, it wasn't with them.

Maybe I'm just a little overprotective right now, she rationalized.

Harry let go of the wizards and stepped back, still smiling and wiping his tears away. "I thought you were dead!" he said to Sirius. "How did you know to come here?"

But before Sirius could answer, a shrill and brittle voice came from the back of the house. "Harry! Harry, you're alive!"

All Fleur saw was a blur of robes and hair, then a witch threw her arms around Harry and held him so tightly he could barely breathe. He returned the hug, crying again.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry managed between sobs.

The dumpy, middle-aged witch pushed him back to arms length, looking him up and down two or three times. "I can't believe it, it's you. It's really you." She pulled him into an even tighter hug.

Fleur tried to restrain the haughty look she'd perfected over the years, but it was difficult. The other witch was disheveled, her eyes red and puffy and definitely undignified.

After a minute or so, Mrs. Weasley asked Harry, "When was the last time you ate?"

"Mast might, phephfore fe phmourmement," he answered, his words muffled against her.

"Then come sit at the table, I was making breakfast when we heard you enter the wards."

Harry shot a questioning look at her.

"Remus added another layer. they alert us when someone comes near us now."

"Oh," was all Harry said, still held tightly Mrs. Weasley.

"Molly, you better let him go," Sirius said with a smirk, "or you're going to make Harry's um," –he raised an eyebrow– "'friend' jealous."

Harry blushed. Fleur opened her mouth to clear up any confusion, but was cut-off.

"Oh belt up, Sirius." She let go of Harry, then fixated on Fleur, her own smirk finally appearing as her eyes fell on Sirius's wand in Fleur's hand. She turned back to him. "At least Remus has more control over himself. I see you're still losing your wand to all the pretty little girls."

Remus erupted in laughter. Sirius rolled his eyes and shoved him out of the kitchen, then followed him out complaining. "How could you possibly know how or when I lose my wand?"

"How many times did I see you get disarmed by the next-door neighbor witch when you were younger?" she replied, now laughing with Remus.

Fleur, however, remained in the doorway, stung like she was slapped in the face. Leetle girl? 'Ow dare she call me a leetle girl. After facing dragons and dark creatures and Death Eaters and . . .

". . . _Bon sang!_" she whispered in surprise. Was that why 'Arry was so mad at me when I said 'e was just a little boy? Fleur shut her eyes and shook her head, again thinking about how much she had misjudged him the night their names were chosen by the Goblet.

"Fleur, dear, I meant for you to come in too, you must be hungry," Mrs. Weasley called back to her.

"_Merci_," Fleur stepped further into the Burrow and noticed the worn carpets; the table, propped up with magic; the stained but clean tea towels, hanging from a drying rack. It was all so. . . _pedestrian_.

She shook the thought and sat at the table next to Harry as Remus and Sirius repaired the damage from the curses.

"Harry, as your former DADA teacher, I'm impressed. That was some fast thinking and faster dueling."

"Thanks," mumbled Harry. "It wasn't that much though, you should have seen Krum duel.

"Krum?" Sirius echoed, his eyes growing narrow and dark as he leaned against a wall. "Tell me why you had an opportunity to experience a duel with Krum."

"No, not like that," Harry protested. "He saved my life last night." He gestured towards Fleur. "All three of them did, then Fleur almost splinched herself Apparating me back to Hogwarts."

Sirius stared at Fleur, but she could tell he wasn't looking at her like most other wizards. It was almost as if he thought that he owed—"

". . . You a great debt of gratitude," Sirius finished saying, shaking his head and unknowingly completing her thought.

He turned back to Harry. "So, Victor Krum, the world-famous seeker, and Fleur, the beautiful Veela Tri-wizard champion." He pushed himself off the wall, grabbed a pitcher of pumpkin juice from the kitchen and walked to the table. "At least you've improved the company you keep, it's a step-up from a mass-murderer and a lowly half-breed, I think."

"_Pardon moi?" _Fleur interjected, gaping at Sirius as he pulled a chair out from the table.

"Never mind him," Remus said, chuckling. "Though I do apologize in advance for anything he says or does, or even thinks for that matter." He pushed Sirius away as he spoke, taking the seat for himself and sitting down.

Fleur's attention flicked to Remus, but she didn't take his advice. "What do you mean, 'alf breed?" she asked Sirius, anger and offense clearly evident in her voice.

Remus leaned back in his chair, locked his fingers behind his head, and grinned. "Yes, Padfoot, please explain to the beautiful, young, _part_ Veela what you mean by 'half-breed.'"

Fleur huffed and turned to Harry. "'Ow can you let them speak of 'alf-breeds like this!"

"Let Sirius explain," Harry answered, torn between laughing at his godfather's predicament and allaying Fleur's anger.

"That's probably not a good idea," said Mrs. Weasley, carrying a plate piled with food. She set it on the table. "That's for starters, I'll make more."

Sirius reached for a breakfast roll and a slap echoed across the room.

"Get your hands off the food!" Mrs. Weasley gestured towards Harry and Fleur. "Let those two eat first."

Sirius rubbed the back of his hand, then quickly stole a breakfast roll before she could stop him and flashed her a mischievous smirk.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head and grinned at his antics before turning to Remus. "I suggest you explain Sirius's comment before Ms. Delacour decides to hex him into next week."

"I don't know Molly, it might be fun to watch," he replied.

She snorted and walked back into the kitchen as Remus thought better of her advice. For the next quarter-hour, Fleur listened intently as he explained his relationship to Sirius and Harry's father, and what they did for him once they found out about his condition.

"You 'ave been a werewolf all that time?" she finally asked.

"I have," confirmed Remus.

She glanced at Sirius. "And 'e's been your friend through it all?"

"No," Remus said. "But that's my fault. I thought Sirius betrayed Harry's father and killed Peter, the fourth part of our little group. I believed he was the murderer everyone said he was. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Why is that ironic, Mr. Lupin?"

Sirius kicked Remus's chair. "Makes you feel old when she calls you that, doesn't it?"

"I am old," he replied, "and at least I act my age. . . most of the time."

they chuckled at a private joke, then Remus continued explaining. "The Black family is one of the oldest, darkest, and at one time, was one of the most powerful families in all of Wizarding Britain. With that history, I assumed he had turned to the Dark Arts and Voldemort, even after he ignored the fact I was a werewolf for years."

"Ignored?" Sirius sounded highly offended, but humor crept back into his voice. "I was scared to death. The only reason I did it was because I thought being 'caring' and 'brave' would land me more witches."

"Didn't work, did it?" Remus asked. "Shame too. Merlin knows your looks weren't going to help any."

Sirius picked up another breakfast roll and threw it at Remus, and was smacked on the arm by Mrs. Weasley as she walked by.

"Don't waste my food," she reprimanded him.

"What?" he protested, then winked at his godson. "Harry threw it, not me."

"In that case"—she reached over and smacked him again—"that's for not keeping your godson under control."

Laughter rose from the table and to Fleur surprise, she found herself laughing right along with them.

Mrs. Weasley took the opportunity to shovel another helping (or two) of eggs and bangers on Harry's plate. Then she caught Fleur's eye and smiled at her, leaned over, and did the same before Fleur could say anything. "I imagine you've been through a lot, you need to eat, and I want no protests."

Fleur nodded, noticing the inner-strength the Weasley matriarch exuded, even in her loss.

Harry's voice drew her from her thoughts. "But how do you know each other?" he asked one of the two men.

"The Blacks and Weasleys are both pure-blood families," Sirius answered. "In this world that means we're related. Her uncle Ignatius was my uncle by marriage. I spent most of my summers at his and Lucretia's house before I left home. Molly was there often. She was a few years older than me so naturally—"

"He spent the time terrorizing me," Mrs. Weasley said with a wistful voice, "That is, when he wasn't dueling the neighbor witch, or trying to seduce her."

At this comment, Sirius spread out his arms and tried for a look of innocence.

It just made him look all the more guilty, Fleur thought, laughing within herself.

"But how did you know he wasn't. . ." Harry stopped—not able to form the word for some reason.

"Dumbledore informed us when we came to see you earlier this year. We offered the Burrow as a safe-haven and Dumbledore said he would pass it on, but the mutt turned us down. Then, once we helped Minerva get some of the younger children to safety, I practically kidnapped him for his own sake, _again_.

"Again?" Harry repeated.

Sirius glanced at Mrs. Weasley, then took a deep breath. "Harry, the Burrow was a safe-house in the war against Voldemort. After. . . after your parents had the _Fidelius_ Charm put in place, we agreed that I shouldn't be seen much. Once Molly found out that I was supposedly the secret keeper, she cornered me in Longbottom's kitchen. After the first three or four hexes, I decided it'd be good for my health to stay at the Burrow like Arthur and Molly were offering."

"Then that means. . ." he turned to Mrs. Weasley, who was looking down at the table.

"Yes Harry," Sirius answered for her. "I was sitting where you're sitting now when Dumbledore's _Patronus _Charm informed me that Voldemort had attacked."

Fleur saw Harry's emotional wounds that still bled pain from the loss of his parents and bit her bottom lip, again amazed at how much the young wizard carried on his shoulders.

Mrs. Weasley sniffed. "It was the darkest day in my life—'till yesterday." She quickly picked up a couple empty dishes and hurried off into the kitchen, only to return with moist eyes and more food.

Remus took another roll and bit into it, studying it intently before continuing the story. "Molly and Arthur weren't involved in the war, supposedly. But do you really think a witch of Molly's. . . constitution," he said delicately, which earned him a watery smile, "would let her two brothers be part of it without doing anything herself?"

"I was pregnant through most of it," she cut in, "All I could do was offer a safe house."

"Which was probably Arthur's plan," Sirius said half-jokingly. Then all humor escaped his voice. "And he was a good man for it. There was so much death, so much heartache. We were losing friends left and right and the Prewetts had lost too many in the damn war already."

His composure broke. He slammed his hand on the table and turned to Mrs. Weasley, his words coming out in a fury. "I saw them all last night, right in the middle of the battle. I did every bloody damn thing I could to save Arthur, but I was no use until I could find a wand and by then—"

Mrs. Weasley put her hand on Sirius's arm, crying once again. "I know you did, and you almost got yourself killed saving my life."

She explained it to Harry. "He took down a Death Eater, took the wand in his mouth, and chased after me. We ran into the Forbidden Forest and hid, protecting some of the wounded and younger students that were with us. That's when he transformed and just about killed me with fright—"

"What do you mean, 'transformed?' " asked Fleur.

"Did you ever wonder why a big, black, mangy dog was always walking around the students during Hogsmeade weekends?" Sirius asked her.

"I thought it was just looking for. . . that was you?"

"It was him, and a fool of a chance he took too," Remus answered for him.

Molly continued. "Last night, after he transformed, he held off numerous Death Eaters as we moved the children deeper into the woods. He saved my life, the lives of twenty or thirty First and Second Years, and a few older ones that were helping us as well."

"Not enough," Sirius whispered, "how many of them are dead today?"

"I don't know, if this is a sign of things to come, then those who are alive today, may be dead tomorrow." Remus looked out the window with a thousand-yard stare. "We don't even know what today will look like now—"

"Dragon spit!" Mrs. Weasley swore. "How could I forget that!"

"What?" Remus asked, confused.

Her voice rose an octave, "How could I have forgotten the _Longum-interimere_ Spell.

Fleur looked back and forth between the three of them, wondering why each face had blanched.

Mrs. Weasley tensed. "Harry, after you finish eating, you're going to go into the other room with Remus and Sirius and let them look you over; make sure you weren't hit with the spell. Fleur, you'll come upstairs with me for privacy. Then we'll get some clean clothes for both of you."

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry began.

Sirius cut him off. "Don't argue with her Harry. I'm a damn fool for forgetting about that. Molly's seen more of this kind of thing than you can ever imagine."

"_Pardon moi_ for asking, but what is this spell?"

Mrs. Weasley turned to Fleur with a look of disgust. For a moment, Fleur thought it was directed at her. But then the older witch began speaking. "It is a spell to terrorize families. Loved ones are attacked, but live. they go home to their families and everyone is happy because mummy or daddy is still alive. Then, whatever spell was cast with it, begins to take root in the body and wreak havoc, slowly killing the person in front of their loved ones who are powerless to stop it. We only figured it out about three months before the war was over."

"That is 'orrible; you think we were 'it with it?"

"Probably not," Molly said forcefully. "But I am also not going to be stupid enough to assume you weren't. We figured out how to counter it, but it has to be within the first twenty-four hours. We have more than enough time to finish our breakfast. After that, however, you both are going to be checked out thoroughly."

Harry and Fleur both nodded, but didn't say anything. A heaviness settled over the table as they ate their meals in silence.

As they were finishing, Sirius finally asked, "What happened last night? When they attacked, the professors immediately removed the maze, but all four of you were gone."

Harry set his fork down and leaned back, looking at Fleur. Her shoulders slumped and she returned his gaze.

Sirius's eyes narrowed considerably as he saw the change in the two teenagers.

"It was a Portkey," Harry finally answered. "Cedric and I figured out that something was wrong, so we stayed together in the maze. We found Fleur a little later and convinced her as well. When we came upon Krum, he almost cursed us, but was able to fight off an _Imperius _Spell someone had cast on him."

"What?" Remus growled, sounding unquestionably more like a wolf than a human at the moment.

Fleur also noticed Sirius's hand twitching for his wand, which she had already given back to him.

"We decided there was no way we were going to separate after that and finished the maze together. But when we found the cup, no one wanted to claim the victory. Like an idiot, I suggested we split it between the four of us and we all reached for the cup at the same time. It turned out to be a Portkey, and took us to a cemetery."

Harry almost jumped at the touch of Fleur's hand on his own.

"Non, 'Arry, don't call yourself an idiot for suggesting what was most fair."

She took over explaining. "It was awful. there were over a 'undred of them—Death Eaters I think you call them. All but ten Apparated to 'Ogwarts. The ten, they bound 'im. 'Arry told us to leave but instead, we 'id at the bottom of the leetle 'ill. We watched as they cut 'is arm, then collected 'is blood in a vial. they poured it in a cauldron that Voldemort was in and he resurrected—"

"WHAT!" Sirius's chair flipped over. He was on his feet, his wand in his hand.

"Easy, Sirius. He's not here now, is he?" asked Remus.

Sirius righted the chair and sat down. "I'm sorry, Ms. Delacour. Please continue."

"After Voldemort returned, 'e 'it 'Arry with the _Cruciatus _Curse many times."

Sirius and Remus both turned and stared at Harry. Mrs. Weasley let out a strangled cry and clamped her hand over her mouth.

"That was when," Harry broke in, "the three of them came back up the little hill and killed three of the Death Eaters. Cedric killed the one next to Voldemort, who in turn killed him."

Harry was silent for a few seconds, obviously reliving the scene.

"Then what happened?" Remus softly prodded.

Fleur noticed Harry was about to continue. She reached over and put her hand on his again, but left it there this time. The corner of Fleur's lip pulled up slightly, proud of what she was about to say. "Then, 'Arry saved my life. I was about to be 'it with the killing curse when 'Arry got the _bâtard_ with a _Cruciatus _Curse."

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley screeched. "That is a dark curse! And illegal!"

Sirius cut in, raising his voice slightly. "I don't think the legality of the curse is an issue Molly, especially since he was facing the darkest wizard in over a century and the murderer of his parents."

"_Exactement_!" exclaimed Fleur. "Then 'Arry cast another curse and 'e cast one too. the curses met in the air and turned gold, lifting them off the ground and setting them down in a clear spot, but they were caged in by light. 'Arry won the duel and the curse 'it Voldemort so 'ard 'e was thrown to the other side of the graveyard. then I grabbed 'Arry, and we Apparated to the road outside of 'Ogwarts.

"A little while later we were attacked. Viktor was killed, but 'Arry saved my life, again. this time, 'e flew out of the castle on his broom, disarmed three Death Eaters and killed two others, then threw 'is broom at me and told me to leave. But there was no way I was leaving. 'E took out the last Death Eater, then we both mounted 'is broom and flew to your cave." She looked at Sirius as she finished and noticed pride surging through him, the same was true of Remus.

"There's so much of his father in him," Sirius mumbled.

"Maybe too much," Remus muttered into his cup as he took a drink.

Sirius looked at his long-time mate and smirked. "Don't worry, Moony, I doubt he's going in to town to pick up power-converters."

"Prat."

"Hey, it was your idea to see what Muggles did for fun and take us to a drive-inn on my bike all those year ago."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

An hour later, Fleur was upstairs, now stripped to her bloomers. Mrs. Weasley was running her hand and wand over every inch of Fleur's exposed body. "I'm sorry. I know this must be embarrassing, but I lost too many friends in the war to the spell. Like Sirius said, we finally figured it our towards the end; but by then, I lost both brothers."

Fleur opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, conflicted. She didn't belong in a house like this; a house that spoke of little money and even less societal concern. Not even six months ago, she would have turned her nose up and Apparated straight back to France without a second thought.

But now? There was no way she'd leave Harry to deal with the consequences of last night. She couldn't walk away and ignore what had happened; nor, she realized, to her confusion, did she want to.

Then there was the witch caring for her now. She wouldn't have given Mrs. Weasley a second look had she passed her on the street. But watching her this morning as she wrestled with the death of her family and remembering the strength that emanated from her, Fleur pondered how she could have been so wrong with her first impression. Of course, she had to admit to herself that she'd been just as wrong about Harry, Sirius, and Remus.

How many others had she been wrong about?

The question was too uncomfortable. Instead, she looked around the room, hoping to find something to spark conversation. Fleur saw the hairbrushes, the bands and untouched ribbons to tie up hair, and pictures that spoke of a young witches' friends and hopes.

"Was this your daughter's room?" she asked innocently.

Mr. Weasley hesitated and Fleur saw her erect an emotional wall.

Fleur lowered her head. "_Je suis désolé_—I am sorry. I am beginning to see that I think and say things without regard of others."

"We all have our foibles," Mrs. Weasley assured her in a kind voice. "You'll never know the kindness you paid me by saving Harry. I think of him as one of my own."

Mrs. Weasley paused for a moment, then came to a decision. "I know my house isn't the picture of grandeur you're probably used to, but you are welcomed to stay here whenever you have need." She moved to Fleur's back, still searching inch by inch.

Fleur turned her head slightly to look in Ginny's mirror, ashamed of the reflection for the first time in her life. Here was a witch who had lost her family in one night; yet she was opening her arms and home to Fleur, even though she obviously knew what Fleur thought of her home and by extension, her.

_It is time to put away childish things. _

Her first attempt to do so fell short. "I think your 'ouse is lovely."

Mrs. Weasley stopped and sat back on her heals. "No, you don't, I read it on your face all morning, but that's okay. You protected Harry last night. You also could have left him here this morning and Apparated away, maybe even back to France, depending on how good you are at it, but you didn't. Instead, you stayed in a place that you thought was below you to make sure Harry was okay. That means more to me than anything you could think about what my late husband could provide."

The rebuke coated in the compliment crushed Fleur. She spun around and faced the older witch in a rush of emotion. "Forgive me. I started this year 'aughty and arrogant. I don't wish to finish it that way, not with someone who loves 'Arry so much."

Why did she say that?

Mrs. Weasley wondered the same thing. She moved to the bed and sat down. "I finished checking your back. You're safe."

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"I believe you're seventeen, is that correct, Fleur?"

"Oui."

"Then you're of age and my name is Molly, okay?"

Fleur smiled and put on the old shirt Molly had brought in while her clothes were being cleaned. She reached back and pulled her hair out from under the shirt, giving a furtive but longing glance to a hairbrush sitting on the desk.

Molly saw the glance. "It's okay. There are a lot of things I'm going to be sentimental about when it comes to my daughter, but her hairbrush is not going to be one of them, trust me. Matter of fact, why don't you bring it here."

Fleur did as Molly asked, handing her the hairbrush.

"Sit down and talk with me." Then Molly gestured with the hairbrush to Fleur's hair, "do you mind?"

"I think I would feel uncomfortable since you've done so much already and all I 'ave done is insult your 'ome and 'usband."

Molly gazed at her for a moment, then instructed her again to sit down and asked, "What happened to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You are not the Fleur that I saw at Hogwarts."

Fleur, now sitting, shook her head slowly. "I don't know. Everything is so different in such a short period. I don't know where to start explaining."

"I understand." Molly empathized. "In that case, I'm going to be blunt. But first, turn around and let me brush your hair. As I've said, you brought Harry to us safely and we are in your debt for that—and I can tell it's pushing you 'round the twist not being able to brush it."

Fleur nodded, not able to deny the longing, though it seemed so incongruent with the discussion and the last few days.

Molly drew the brush through the long, platinum hair. "Sometimes, when so much changes so fast, it's the small pleasures like having your hair brushed that help reorient ourselves. Strange, I know, but it's true."

"But was does 'Arry 'ave to reorient 'imself?"

"Harry," Molly breathed his name. "Harry is more than 'The Boy Who Lived', He's a young man who has seen nothing but heartache, pain, and suffering in his life. Very few people ever care to get to know the real Harry. I don't know if he has anything to help him reorient himself."

"I can see that," Fleur said. "'E's been through so much. I overheard Dumbledore talking with 'im about those awful people 'e lives with."

"Awful is too kind of a word for them. At the end of every summer, Harry comes here looking like a wraith. He usually loses half a stone of weight during the summer months, but it's not just food. He's starved for love, affection, friendship, everything you and I take for granted." She took a deep breath, then whispered. "I don't know how he's going to bear the weight of it all now."

"What do you mean?" Fleur turned back around to see Molly gauging her. It felt as if she was being weighed and measured, and maybe even had been found wanting. It both angered and humbled Fleur.

"How committed are you to seeing this through with Harry?" Molly asked, surprising her.

"I 'aven't thought about it beyond what to do next. But I am willing to bring 'im to France with me, so we may plan together. 'E would stay with me and my family to be safe."

Molly nodded. "You need to know, everyone he has loved and everyone who has loved him, except for those in this house, are dead."

The plain, ugly truth sucked the wind out of Fleur. "Everyone?"

"Everyone. Ron and Hermione, the twins, my daughter, my husband, Dumbledore; Sirius, Remus, and myself are probably all that's left of a world that he was introduced to four years ago. As far as I can tell, no one loved him before he came into this world either.

There are no words. . . But she was caught short by Molly's next request.

"Whatever you do, don't hurt him."

"What does this mean, 'don't 'urt 'im'?"

"I just worry about him," Molly temporized, realizing she'd said too much.

"I don't want to 'urt 'im. 'E's 'ad too much 'urt already."

"Good." Molly paused. "Will you promise me something?"

"_Quoi?_" Fleur asked, remembering a conversation like this a little over twelve hours ago.

"Promise me that if you take him to France, you'll keep him there. Do everything in your power. Hex him, tie him up to the tree outside your house, even use your Veela charm if you have to, but don't let him come back here. I know Harry. If he comes back, he will seek out He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and will kill him. Win or lose, Harry will lose himself in the hunt."

"I'm afraid 'E already 'as. I need to tell you something, but that man downstairs, Sirius, he loves 'Arry too?"

"Yes, very much."

"Will 'Arry listen to 'im?"

"Maybe. It depends." Molly gave Fleur a very stern look. "What are you saying? I want to know, now."

"I think we need Sirius here too."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

While Mrs. Weasley and Fleur were upstairs, Sirius and Remus took Harry into the front room. Harry disrobed gingerly.

"Harry, you need to learn how to duck a few of them curses," Sirius joked, trying to cover the uneasiness he felt at the marks on Harry's body.

Across Harry's chest, shoulders, and upper arms; blue, purple, red, and green streaks highlighted every blood vessel in the skin. He looked like a living, breathing road map.

"Still feeling the effects of last night?" Remus asked.

"Speaking of last night," Sirius said, raising his eyebrow, "I noticed the story ended with Krum being killed, and the two of you flying to my cave. Then you two show up on the doorstep this morning. Did you stay in the cave all night?"

"Yeah, Fleur warded it so light and sound couldn't escape."

"Oh? Light _and sound?_"

"Sirius," Remus said under his breath, "leave it alone."

He turned to Remus, "No, it is my responsibility as his godfather to make sure that all things are handled . . . appropriately."

Harry finished disrobing, standing before them in a pair of boxers. they began checking him over for wounds too small for the eye to see at first, careful not to cause more pain as they ran their hands and wands over the skin.

Harry finally answered. "Yeah, light and sound, why?"

"Oh, no reason," Sirius chuckled. "Where did you sleep?" he asked.

"In the cave, I just said that."

"That's not what I'm asking, Harry."

Remus shot Sirius a warning glance.

"Then what are you asking?"

Sirius just grinned from ear to ear and continued to search along his chest.

"Sirius?" Harry asked again, a bit agitated.

"I was asking, _where, _in the cave did you sleep."

"I don't know, against one of the walls, why?"

"And where did Fleur sleep?" Sirius pushed.

Remus groaned and shook his head.

"In the cave as well."

Impossibly, Sirius's grin got even larger. "I was just wondering how you um—liked my cave?"

"Fine, I guess . . ."

"Just fine? You didn't find it extraordinary last night? Or even incredible?"

"It was dark and I barely even saw what I was doing, let alone checked things out, why?"

Sirius hooted in laughter.

Harry looked over at Remus. "What's he getting on about?"

"Oh, nothing. He's just wondering if you and Fleur mixed potions last night."

"Mixed . . . what?"

Sirius stopped and leaned back. "You know Harry, since I _am _your godfather, it's my place to tell you that if you are going to mix potions with a witch, make sure you are wearing the proper robes."

Lupin snorted and Harry rolled his eyes. "Are you really asking if I wore a glove while catching her Snitch last night?"

Sirius rolled on to his side in laughter. It wasn't that he hadn't heard that before, just neverfrom Harry.

"Just to make myself clear, nothing like that happened." Harry said a little defensively.

Sirius resumed his search for the traces of the curse. "Alright, I just had to ask."

"Why?" Harry barked at him.

"Because the way she kept touching your arm and hand this morning, the way she got angry with you when she thought I was being a pure-blooded bigot, it means something Harry."

"What?"

"Nope, it's for you to figure out, though I will say this. From what little I heard and saw, that young lady upstairs, is one hell of a witch."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, "Try sleeping with her arm and leg draped over you half the night."

"What was that?" Remus asked with a huge smile. "You mumbled."

"Never mind."

Remus and Lupin grinned widely, feeling somewhat sorry for Harry. they remembered what Fleur's magic felt like.

The grins disappeared suddenly as the ward alarms alerted them that someone had Apparated to the Burrow. One, now two, now three people were quietly walking through the backyard. Harry barely had enough time to pull on his trousers and trainers before whoever it was reached the back door.

He stood next to Sirius, naked from the waist up and gripping his wand for a fight as Lupin disappeared into the kitchen to spy on the infiltrators. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mrs. Weasley and Fleur at the top of the stairs. Fleur and Harry's eyes met, and she gawked at the marks on his chest.

"Bloody Hell!" Lupin's voice broke the silent moment. As far as Harry remembered, Lupin never swore.

That was _not _a good sign.


	4. Unbidden Visitors and Revelations

.

**Chapter Four**

**Unbidden Visitors and  
><strong>**Revelations****  
><strong>

Remus held his wand in one hand and reached for the door with the other. "How can I be of service to you, Madam Bones?"

In the sitting room, Harry could hear the uneasiness in Remus's voice. It wasn't a coincidence that the head of DMLE was at the back door after Sirius showed himself last night.

"First you can stop trying to kiss my arse," answered the witch in a brusque voice. "Second, you can allow us into the house."

Remus raised his wand. "Not before you tell me the first thing you said to me about teaching at Hogwarts."

"As long you take that potion, I don't give a damn if you're a werewolf."

Remus kept his wand trained on her and addressed her niece. "What was your Boggart form in my class?"

"A Ministry worker dressed in black with his hat in his hand on my doorstep."

He nodded, and asked the third witch, "What did you do to earn your house twenty points from me?"

She grinned wickedly. "I hexed Malfoy—a few times."

Remus smirked.

"May we step in now?" Madame Bones asked. "I don't particularly enjoy standing in the open after what happened last night."

Remus stepped back. "Come in and close the door, but no further than the kitchen until I've asked a couple more questions." He began as soon as the door clicked shut. "What business have you here?"

"I need to talk to Sirius Black."

That was all Harry needed to hear. He stormed into the kitchen—still without a shirt—with his wand in hand. His voice was cold and lacked inflection. "My godfather is innocent. Accept it, leave, or there's going to be a bloody mess to clean up by the time we're through. It's your choice."

Susan risked a glance at her friend, then back at Harry. He almost smiled at the irony. In their second year, Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbot, and she gobbed on continuously about him being the Heir of Slytherin. Now, when he _was _dangerous, the little witch was just gob_smacked_.

"Don't do anything rash, Potter. I think you'll like my news," Madam Bones answered. "There were reports of a powerful magic 'happening' in a Scotland graveyard last night. I had the Auror department investigate it early this morning. They found the bodies of Peter Pettigrew and five Death Eaters. A bit later, Minerva appeared at my door with my niece and I used a Pensieve to view their memories.

"A Death Eater does not fight against his own, nor does he lack The Mark. It was noticeably absent in the memory when Sirius Black helped Susan; something a trial would have proven years ago.

"That, along with Minerva providing me a memory about a conversation she had with Dumbledore, convinced me Sirius Black is innocent."

She slowly reached into her robe and pulled out _The Daily Prophet_.

"I've spoken to some people on the Wizengamot. Have you seen a copy of today's paper?" She asked.

"No," Mrs. Weasley answered, walking into the kitchen. "I stopped my subscription after the lies that wretch Rita Skeeter was printing."

"In that case"—she handed the paper to Remus—"Maybe you should read the headline on the first page, below the fold."

Remus took the paper and read the two headlines out loud. SIRIUS BLACK IS INNOCENT!" the first one announced. On the other side of the page, a second headline blazed, "PETER PETTIGREW: KILLED LAST NIGHT IN GRAVEYARD!"

"It's official," Madame Bones confirmed. She looked at the black dog standing at Harry's side. "A copy of the order dropping the charges and exonerating you is on the next page."

Sirius morphed into his human form, looking equal parts thankful and outraged. "Forgive me if I can't find it within myself to thank the Ministry for proclaiming my innocence after a decade at Azkaban."

"That is why I didn't ask," she responded. "I would be remiss, however, if I didn't remind you that you have a right to be heard in the Wizengamot about your wrongful imprisonment."

Sirius grinned for a moment, thinking about what was just offered to him, but the _realpolitic_ of the day won. "As much as I would love to, it's not a good idea to undermine the Ministry with everything that happened last night."

"Oh?"

"It far outweighs what was done to me," he continued.

"Are you reading more into it than I am, Mr. Black?" she asked, her eyebrows arched high enough that Harry thought her monocle might fall out.

"I think you should let Harry explain," Sirius answered.

Madame Bones directed her focus at Harry. "Then explain."

Harry made snap decision to be just as direct as she was, partly due to her method of addressing him. "Voldemort incarnated last night. We are at war again."

The monocle fell out and dangled by the string. "This is not a time for jokes, boy!" she snapped at him.

"JOKES?" Harry fired back, then pointed to the multi-hued streaks spider-webbed across his chest and shoulders. "Do you think I did this to myself? LOOK AT ME! This is the result of being the hexing-toy of the newly enfleshed Voldemort."

Harry continued to glared at her until a small, feminine hand lightly touched his chest, tracing the marks.

"Does it hurt?" Cho Chang asked.

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. A moment later, he turned red as Fleur walked into the kitchen, her eyes flaring at Cho caressing Harry's chest.

Harry decided to skip Cho's question and stepped back from her touch before explaining what happened.

"The other Champions and I fought a battle with Voldemort and some of his Death Eaters last night at that graveyard. That is where he was resurrected before he began cursing me. I only escaped when the other Champions came to my rescue."

"I was there too and 'Arry is telling you the truth," Fleur concurred, "though 'e is being too 'umble about 'is part in the battle."

The blood drained from Madame Bones's face.

Sirius, who had picked up the paper, flipped it over and pointed to the front page, which was an eerily still picture of Hogwarts showing the dead bodies of Death Eaters. "We need to make some fast decisions. In the last war, one of the biggest problems was the infiltration of the Ministry and the subsequent neutralization of the DMLE, specifically the Hit Wizards and the Aurors. We don't have time to be buggering about, war is coming again and we need to know how many of them are on our side."

"Is the Order starting up again?" Madame Bones asked.

"I haven't thought about it, but it should if we can find enough members. The DMLE and specifically the Auror's department is a good place to start, at least the ones we can trust."

"Count me in," Madame Bones agreed. "Last time, I spied for the Order, so I couldn't be an official member for obvious reasons. Not this time. As for the Aurors, count on your cousin Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Daniel Proudfoot, Gawain Robards, and Gary Williamson joining immediately.

"How certain are you of their loyalty?" Remus questioned.

"They were dispatched to the graveyard and the school once we found out. This morning they came back ready rip the countryside apart looking for Death Eaters. One of our day-shift Aurors caught them casting battle-shield charms on their body armor and dispensing with backup wand holsters for second primary holsters. It took the entire day-shift of Aurors and a frantic call to the Hit-Wizards next door before they were physically restrained.

Sirius smirked, thinking about his cousin. "How'd Tonks do?"

"Four hit wizards, three Aurors, and two secretaries, though one of the secretaries got jinxed for calling her Nymphadora. Two of the three Aurors were night-shift Aurors even, but had already calmed down."

"How did she manage that?" Remus asked, remembering a cute toddler that absolutely adored Sirius.

"She morphed into the form of Hagrid. It was a tense five minutes."

"Hagrid?" Sirius threw his head back and guffawed.

"She only calmed down when Shacklebolt and I faced her down. Too much respect for us, I guess, though you couldn't tell by her mouth—or her two-fingered gestures."

"Nice to see Tonks has found a way to channel the Black heritage in a positive way." Sirius smiled.

"She did well this morning too." Madame Bones continued. "Armed with the memories of Neville Longbottom, she found—"

"Neville's alive?" interrupted Harry.

Madame Bones took it in stride. "He is. Last night he saw Moody kill the heads of Durmstrang and Beauxbatans as they looked for the Champions."

"Madame Maxime!" Fleur gasped.

Harry forgot all about Neville and went to Fleur immediately. He reached around her with one arm and put his other hand on the back of her head, gently pulling her into his body and supporting her so she wouldn't fall to the ground. Fleur wrapped her arms around him tightly, leaned her head against his bare chest, and cried.

Harry swore an oath as he held her, _someone_ was going to pay with their life for making this demigod of beauty break down in tears; preferably, many "someones". His arms flexed and the muscles around his jaw hardened. The private oath fed his anger, which in turn empowered his magic even more.

After a couple of minutes had passed, Fleur let go of Harry and stepped back. "thank you. I'll be fine," she whispered, wiping away tears and forcing a smile for him. She walked out of the room and back up the stairs.

Harry followed to the bottom of the staircase to make sure she was okay. After being assured she was, he detoured into the sitting room and pick up the shirt Mrs. Weasley had given him to wear. Before putting it on, he noticed the remains of Fleur's tears still running down his chest. He watched as they glistened in the light and refused to dry them, knowing they belonged there.

Of course they did, he thought. After all, it was ultimately his fault. It was Harry that Voldemort was after. Regardless of what Fleur said, he _did_ suggest all four Champions take the cup. Had Harry taken it alone, Fleur and Madame Maxime could have Disapparated as soon as the fighting began and the wards were broken.

The logic was terrible and Harry didn't account for the three other Champions' reactions, that they would have stayed and fought at Hogwarts like everyone else. But that was normal; he was used to thinking he was at fault for everything that went wrong.

Harry pulled his shirt over his head and went back into the kitchen.

"Is Fleur okay?" Sirius asked.

"I'm not sure. She had to have known."

"Knowing it and hearing it confirmed, are vastly different," Remus reminded him.

Harry nodded, then peered up at Madame Bones. "You were saying Professor Moody killed them?"

"That's what we thought. But when we went back there later this morning, we found the body of Crouch Jr., with Moody's eye and wooden leg next to him—"

"But he's dead!" Sirius interrupted. "I was down the corridor from him in Azkaban. I watched them take the body out of his cell."

"And you were supposed to be a Muggle-murderer, remember?" the head of DMLE reminded him. "I don't know whose body was carried out of his cell, but I saw Crouch Jr. with my own eyes this morning. It was him, with a flask of Polyjuice potion lashed to his side. Anyway, it took them an hour, but Tonks found Moody locked up in the trunk in his office, or more accurately, she tripped over the trunk and heard him yell. Either way, Moody is right miffed at being held in there all year."

"I would think so," Sirius interjected. "Where is he now, and Minerva?"

"They're back at my house."

"Good. I'm going to assume they'll be part of the Order again."

"I would think so," Madame Bones agreed. "When do you want to have the first meeting?"

"As soon as possible, tomorrow night if we can find a place," Remus answered.

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes and entered the conversation. "What do you mean find a place? We'll have it at the Burrow."

"I'm not sure about that," Sirius interjected. "Death Eaters have to know that Harry is here. If they are watching and see known Order members from the first war arriving, all hell'll break loose."

"Why would anyone believe I would want to stay at the house of my second dead family?" Harry asked. "Most probably think I am back at my relatives under the blood wards, or out of the country with Fleur by now."

Four sets of adult eyes widened at the statement. "The boy's got good point," Madame Bones agreed.

"How many people know how you feel about your relatives?" Sirius asked.

"Now? Outside of Neville, probably only the people in this room."

Sirius acquiesced. "Alright, we'll have it here tomorrow, but I think we're foolish to push it beyond that."

"We can talk about that at the meeting," Mrs. Weasley said, effectively ending the discussion.

"How's Neville doing?" Remus asked. "I have to admit I'm surprised he made it through last night. I know he wouldn't have run, but while in my class, he didn't seem to have the aptitude to battle against Death Eaters either."

"I think he's okay," Cho answered. "Or at least as okay as we are. I spoke with him just before we came. He's with Su Li, protecting the last of the Firsties."

Harry pulled his eyebrows together. "Protecting?"

"Yeah," Susan spoke up. "It seems he found his magic last night."

"How did he do that?" Harry wanted to know.

"Do you know his story, Harry?" Madame Bones asked.

"I know about his parents, if that is what you are asking."

"Do you know who did it?"

"No."

"Barty Crouch Jr., and three others, all of whom were there last night. It is not unheard of that when faced with such an emotional situation, especially when it results in anger, magic gets channeled in ways it never has before. It's the same basic reason for accidental magic."

"That makes sense," Remus surmised. "He spent a lot of extra time with me learning how to do spells. He knew them, he just couldn't push enough magic into them. I guess whatever was holding his magic back, let go last night."

"I'd say," Susan remarked. "He still tripped over his feet a few times, but he fought two Death Eaters by himself when a group of Firsties came running out of the wrong side of the Quidditch stands."

"I saw that too," said Mrs. Weasley. "Neville fought like a possessed wizard. He reminded me so much of his father last night. Frank would have been very proud of his son."

She stopped and rubbed her eyes. "Come, let me make some lunch and we can sit down. There's still much to discuss. Harry, why don't you take these two young woman into the sitting room," she suggested.

"I think I owe Cho a few words in private, first. If that's okay."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and went to work in the kitchen.

Harry steered Cho to the sitting room. They sat on the settee, leaving a couple of feet between them. "I thought you should know," he started, but found he couldn't say anything else.

Cho waited patiently.

"It's about Cedric. He. . . ."

She closed her eyes and cried softly. "He's dead, I thought so."

Harry nodded, still not able to speak. Somehow, it felt natural to comfort Fleur, he knew exactly what to do. It didn't hurt that she had comforted him in the cave last night, either. But Cho? What was he to do now? How did he end up here, trying to figure out a way to comfort someone who had rejected him, and doing it because the person he was rejected for, died saving him. Can my world get any more twisted about?

Cho's voice brought him back to the moment. "I thought all four of you were dead." She cried harder and Harry, not knowing what else to do, reached out to her. She slid across the settee and put both arms around him, holding him tightly and crying on his neck. He ended up wrapping his arms around her and holding her as she cried. And there's another twist. Ask a stupid question. . . .

"He was brave, Cho. If it wasn't for him, Voldemort would've killed me."

Cho pulled back. "I—I don't want to believe he's back. He's going to go after you again, isn't he?"

Harry couldn't help but notice the worried look she gave him, nor the renewed tears.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Neither could Fleur, who was sitting at the top of the stairs.

Sirius, who had excused himself to the bathroom when they sat down for tea, walked by her on his way back down the stairs. "Anything wrong?" he asked.

"No. Why?"

"Because you look like my mother when my father set off for work. Trust me, that's not a compliment."

"What do you mean?"

"She hated him going to work."

"Why would she 'ave a problem with that?"

Sirius chuckled. "My father worked with a number of gorgeous witches like the young beauty on the settee with Harry."

"'E's only fourteen." She replied curtly, laughing at the idea that someone could think she liked Harry in _that _way.

"Alright, I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said, before heading back down the stairs.

Fleur couldn't resist watching Harry as he comforted the young witch, thinking about him doing the same for her just a few minutes before, and pondering the dichotomy that was Harry Potter. Fleur had thought long and hard about the books she'd seen the night before and didn't like any of the conclusions she came to, especially since the two adults closest to Harry had warned her that he could easily slip into the Dark Arts before he fulfilled the prophecy—though it wasn't said in those words. Yet here he was, tender and caring, comforting a young witch that had turned him down for the Yule Ball.

Fleur remembered how she thought it funny that Harry didn't have a date for that night until almost the very end; it was more proof that Harry was just a boy with a scar and a hard luck story, not special like her. Fleur sighed at the memory and quietly went up the next flight of stairs to Ginny's bedroom. She sat on the bed, ashamed of herself, ashamed of how she had treated Harry at the beginning of the year, and ashamed of how she had treated his friends.

True, she was sick of teenage (and adult) wizards being dumbstruck by her whenever she passed by, but could she blame them? When was the last time they saw someone as beautiful as her?

_Mon Dieu, je suis incroyablement arrogant! _

_Since when, was arrogance ever beautiful?_ she asked herself in response. _Never, _She answered, and that meant she wasn't beautiful either. Sure, the Veela might be, but _Fleur _was far from it. If someone ever got passed the Veela magic and the looks, what would they find? What would be beautiful about her then? What if a blind wizard ever sat down to speak with her, what would he find beautiful about her? The questions raced through Fleur's mind unbidden, and unanswered. Worse, the more she dug to find an answer, the emptier she felt. How could she have let herself come to this?

A half-hour later, spent from the self-interrogation, Fleur curled in on herself, hugging the uncomfortable pillow. She lifted it up to fluff it, and found something stuffed inside the pillowcase.

It was a small book bound together with string. Every page was a letter addressed to Harry. At first she put it down on the dresser. But after a few minutes, the compulsion to read it overcame her.

**~ . ~ . ~**

_5 October, 1990 _

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_My name is Ginevra Weasley, but please don't call me that. I go by Ginny. Do you like to be called any other name? My older brothers call Ron (he's the youngest brother) many names, but I don't think he likes any of them._

_My mummy told me the story how you saved everyone from Boldevort. I'm sad you lost your mummy and daddy. I fight with my brothers a lot. But I would cry very much if anything happened to them, or my mummy and daddy. _

_I guess I should say thank you for saving most of my family. Mummy says my two Uncles died because of Boldevort, but I didn't know them._

_I hope we can meet someday._

_Ginny._

**~ . ~ . ~**

Fleur drew her hand across the writing, feeling the imprint of the quill in the pages. There was something so innocent, so pure about this Ginny's concern for Harry. It stood in stark contrast to what she'd seen from many of the students towards Harry those first months last fall. It also further highlighted Her own attitude towards Harry. Quickly, she flipped a few more pages and began reading before thinking too much on that subject again.

**~ . ~ . ~**

_01 September, 1991_

_Dear Harry Potter_

_I SAW YOU TODAY HARRY!_

_You were at the train station and didn't know how to get to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. You met my mum and brother Ron. I hope you like him. He can be a prat (don't tell mum I said that, she thinks I'm too "mouthy," whatever that means), but he's still one of my favorite brothers._

_I'm sorry I hid behind mum when I saw you, but I didn't know what else to do! You looked lost, and a little scared. (Cute too!) But I don't believe you were scared. How can you be scared after facing Voldemort? I even saw the scar. Did you know you keep trying to cover it up? I bet you didn't even know you were trying to. Mum says my brothers try and do that to their freckles, but I think she means their hair is just getting too long. _

_I hope you have a good year at Hogwarts this year. Next year, I will be old enough to go too. I am so excited!_

_Ginny. _

**~ . ~ . ~**

Fleur smiled, then laughed, wishing that she could have gotten to know the girl, instead of keeping her distance all year. Now, the only memories she had of this Ginny was Harry carrying her small, dead body across the grounds, tripping over the bloodied remains of his friends while crying—

Quickly, Fleur turned a few more pages and began reading before the memories came flooding back.

**~ . ~ . ~**

_31 August, 1992_

_Dear Harry Potter._

_It is weird writing this letter to you when you are sleeping three floors up! I can't believe you're staying in my house. I know it's not much, we get made fun of because we don't have much money. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love it here because it's home. I hope you feel like this is home too. _

_I'm glad my brothers broke you out of that house. Why did your Uncle bar the window and lock your door from the outside? Ron says they fed you through a little hole cut into it. Mum is miffed about how skinny you are. She says they barely fed you. Ron's told us before that they make you cook for everyone else and let your cousin beat you up and that they don't care about you. He also says you didn't get any real Christmas presents from them, and never have . . ._

**~ . ~ . ~**

. . . Fleur was appalled. The savior of the Wizarding world was treated like trash. How could they ignore him, shunt him off to the side, and not care about him? How could I? She covered her face and cried, her heart rending apart. 'Ow many have others have I treated like 'Arry? 'Ow many others 'ave I dismissed without a thought about them? 'Ow. . . 'ow many others 'ave I 'urt with mon arrogance?

Once again, question after question raced through her mind. But, after an interminable amount of time, her thoughts cleared and she was able to pinpoint where these changes began; the second task.

Maybe no one else could tell, but in hindsight, Fleur knew that something was different. The potential loss of Gabrielle shocked her into realizing how important some things were and in relation, how many other things weren't so important. She couldn't remember the last time she had complained about Hogwarts. Sure, she still had her judgments, but even those were more out of habit now. She'd even begun to go out of her way to say hi to Harry, sorry for how she treated him earlier in the year.

Except, none of that explained why she was she having one epiphany after another today. What was happening to her? Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. I'm changing. What I saw last night, what I experienced, what I learned about 'Arry's life and mine in comparison, has caused me to change.

The thought shocked Fleur, and she was quickly shocked again when she came to understand what the change was. _I'm starting to care about people!_

The last epiphany however, led straight to another question. _W__hen did I stop caring_? It wasn't like she grew up that way. As a little girl, she was extremely empathetic toward others, including the time when she was four and punched a boy for making her friend cry, then cried because she made the boy cry by punching him.

Fleur smiled at the memory. _When did that stop, puberty_? _Or at least the Veela version of it_? That's when everyone else's reactions to her changed, so she shut them out and stopped caring.

Fleur took a deep breath, emotionally and physically exhausted. She picked Ginny's letters back up and finished the one she was reading before putting them away.

**~ . ~ . ~**

** . . . **_Harry, I am sorry no one else cares for you. If it helps, I do. I love you, and I promise you I will love you even if no one else does. (oh bollocks, thank you Merlin I'm not EVER going to send this to Harry. IF ONE OF MY BROTHERS IS READING THIS, I'LL BAT BOGEY HEX YOUR ARSE OFF!)_

**~ . ~ . ~**

The letters hit the mattress and Fleur snatched up the pillow, pushing it against her face to stifle the laughter.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"I hope I didn't upset your witchfriend," Cho said to Harry downstairs about the same time.

"Witchfriend?"

"Don't be coy, Harry."

"I don't—"

Cho was surprised at the lost look on Harry's face. "You mean you're not?"

"I don't know what you're even talking about!" Harry responded, a little frustration showing through.

Cho giggled. "Now I think I know why you didn't ask me out, even though I flirted with you _during _our Quidditch match last year."

"Sorry?"

"When I cut you off and like a gentlemen, you swerved out of the way instead of hitting me and grabbing the Snitch. Do you remember how I smiled at you when Wood was yelling for you to knock me off my broom?"

"Yeah," Harry gave her a small smile.

"I waited outside the locker rooms to congratulate you that night, but you were with the rest of your House. Then there just never seemed to be the right time. The rest of that year I hoped that you would approach me, but you never did. This year, I was hoping you would asked me to the Yule Ball, I even said no to Cedric originally. But I finally decided that you didn't like me, so I agreed to go with him instead."

"Oh."

Susan, having come in after Harry finished telling Cho about Cedric, piped up. "It's probably a good thing Harry has no clue when it comes to witches. Could you imagine him if he actually knew and acted on the fact that half the witches at school fancied him?"

"What?"

Cho laughed. "Harry, if you're going to spend time with witches, you _have to _work on giving more than one-word answers."

"Why?" Susan retorted. "I doubt talking was a priority for the witches that wanted to get him into the broom closet—especially for a couple of the _Seventh Year_s."

Harry blushed something fierce.

"And they were _very_ pretty, including the one from Slytherin," Cho clarified.

"Oh bog off, now you're just taking the mickey out of me."

"Oh?" Susan said, "I heard the Slytherin girl is working at Fortescues' ice cream parlor this summer. She made it through last night, actually helped us in the beginning. Take a trip to Diagon Alley and pop in to say hi this summer. I'm sure she'd love to . . . _serve you_."

The last two words, delivered with a sultry voice and little shake of the head left Harry looking like a Hippogriff caught in the headlights of an oncoming train.

Cho giggled again. "You really are a neophyte when it comes to witches, aren't you?"

"Neo-what?"

"Neophyte, a beginner," Cho informed him. "You're completely lost. Okay, getting back to our original topic, let me help. If I am reading all the signs correctly—though I'm no Trelawney–"

Cho's Seeker skills came in handy as she caught a pillow just before it hit her in the head.

After sticking her tongue out at Susan, Cho started again. "Okay Harry, follow me. When a witch stares at another witch when the second said witch is touching a wizard, that's a sign. When first said witch is comfortable enough to cry on said wizard's shoulder and holds said wizard as said witch does, that's a possible sign. When said witch sits at the top of the stairs and watches said wizard comfort second said witch much like the first said witch, with a look of malice, that's a third sign.

"Now, like I said, I'm no Trelawney"—Cho checked to make sure the air was clear of pillows—"but guessing at the signs, I'd say the whole thing should be rated at possible to probable."

"The whole what?" Harry asked, utterly confused. "What is possible to probable? What signs? What are you talking about?"

Cho looked at Susan, gobsmacked and Susan shook her head at the idiocy of wizards.

"Are you ready girls?" Madame Bones asked from the table on the other side of the wall.

"Sure," Susan answered. The three of them stood up. Susan walked over and surprised Harry by giving him a hug and kissing him on the cheek. "I never apologized for the stupid stuff I said two years ago, or for my part in the 'Potter Stinks' campaign this year."

"Don't worry about it," Harry mumbled.

"I shouldn't have done it. There are only a few of us at Hogwarts who knows what's its like to lose our family. I can't imagine what it must have felt like to have most of the school turn on you as well. . . twice, actually. I really am sorry Harry."

"I don't know what to say," Harry finally admitted. "Thank you, I guess."

But Susan understood. The corners of her lips pulled up. "She is gorgeous, by the way."

"Who?"

Susan shook her head and walked away laughing. Cho hugged Harry as well, careful to not hurt his chest. She took his head in her hands and tilted it down just enough to look directly into his eyes. "I am glad I dated Cedric. He was a good wizard and very caring. But I am sorry I didn't seek you out after the night of our match last year. I would have loved to spend many evenings watching the sun set with you."

She leaned in and kissed him softly. "Please don't succumb to Gryffindor stupidity and go rushing into danger."

"Gryffindor stupidity, what do you mean?" Harry asked, a little surprised, and miffed if Cho read it right.

"Most of your Housemates could have made it safely out of the battle. But they chose to run _toward _the oncoming Death Eaters. They all gave their lives to protect the younger ones."

"So did your House. I saw their bodies in the trees. I know you stayed to help as well."

"The difference is, if you were there, I know you would have been in the very front." She paused before starting again. "But it's just you now. Ron isn't with you to get into trouble and Hermione isn't there to bail you out. I don't want to even think what would happen to you if Death Eaters caught you."

Biting her lip she turned to leave, and saw Fleur standing at the bottom of the stairs. Cho walked up to her and whispered into her ear, "Please take care of him."

"Girls, let's go! We need to be home before it gets dark." Madame Bones called out a second time.

Susan walked into the kitchen, followed by Fleur and a now bemused Cho, who, from the look on Fleur's face, knew that neither one of them had any idea how they possibly felt towards each other. It was Ron and Hermione all over again, and _everyone _at the school but them saw their spats for what they were.

"Ms. Delacour, have you let your father know you are safe?" Madame Bones asked once Fleur was in the kitchen.

"_Non_, I thought about sending a _Patronus_ Charm, but it wouldn't make it that far. I don't 'ave an owl and there's no way I'm making their owl fly across the Mange. According to Molly, it'd probably end up drowning in the ocean."

The head of DMLE drew her cloak around herself. "I'll try to get word to your father through the Ministry. You also need to know that according to International Wizarding Statutes, all foreign wizards and witches are entitled to create or have a Portkey created without prosecution during time of conflict. Since you are decidedly not a pure-blood and I fear we are at the beginning of a second pure-blood war, I suggest you do it soon, whether you decide to stay or not. If the Ministry falls, the Portkey will still be operative, but if you wait, my replacement in a new Ministry will have the power to create wards that stop the creation of Portkeys.

"I fear what they would do to a beautiful young foreign witch like you who isn't a pure-blood. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"_Oui,_ _Madamemoiselle_, I understand. Would I be the only one that can use it?"

"No. Anyone acting as a protector could Portkey with you to see you safely home"—she turned to Harry—"especially if that person is targeted as well."

"then I will do it as soon as you leave, thank you."

The three witches walked out the back door to the apparition point. Sirius, Remus, and Harry walked with them to the back fence, and watched them Disapparate.

"That was an interesting visit," Remus said as he started back towards the Burrow.

"I'd say. Never did find out how she knew I was here."

"The dog smell?" Harry asked, then took off running as Sirius transfigured back into a dog and gave chase.

Looking out the back window, Fleur was getting as much enjoyment watching them as they.

Unbeknownst to her, Molly was leaning against the counter, watching Fleur watching them, and smiling herself.


	5. The Reality Ahead

.

**Chapter Five**

**The Reality Ahead**

Finished chasing each other around the yard an hour or so later, Sirius put his arm around Harry's shoulders as they walked back to the Burrow.

"Thanks for coming to my defense today, but if you ever do it again, I'll curse you myself."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and muttered something about Harry being just like James again. But as they reached the back door, he put his hand out, stopping Harry from going inside.

When Harry looked up at his godfather, he saw the adoration that had been missing from his life. He knew instinctively that this was the same way his father would have look at him.

"There are very few people in this world that have the ability to comfort others the way you did today, after all you've been through. Your mother would be unbelievably proud. I think your father would've as well, though he'd be just as proud of the fact that it was two beautiful witches you were comforting."

Remus snorted.

"Might as well do it while I still can," Harry thought, not realizing he said it out loud.

"What was that?" Remus asked.

"Nothing."

"Harry," Sirius growled at him.

The two adults looked at each other before Sirius started again. "I want to know what you meant by that."

At first, Harry was reluctant to tell them about the Horcruxes, but he had to talk with someone and if he trusted anyone, it was these two. They had the privileged position of being both friends and adults, rather than just authority figures; Sirius much more than Remus, but . . . Harry let out a breath. "It's something I saw in Dumbledore's office. He gave me a memory to look at."

"And?" Sirius prodded.

"Do you know what 'Horcruxes' are?" he finally asked.

"Can't say that I do," Sirius answered. "How about you, Remus?"

"Haven't heard of them."

Harry walked back to the picnic table and sat down. The other two followed, eyeing each other warily. When they reached the table, Harry asked Remus to put up a spell to stop anyone from listening.

"It's done. Now what's on your mind?"

"No one can hear?"

"No one," Remus assured Harry.

"Okay. Do you know how Voldemort is still alive?"

"Nobody really knows."

"I do. I helped him."

"You can't blame yourself," Sirius reminded him. "They bound you and took your blood."

"That's not what I mean. I helped keep him alive the last thirteen years." He definitely had their attention now.

"You're going to tell me everything you know about this, now," Sirius commanded. "If we want to stop Voldemort, every piece of information is crucial."

Harry realized he was right and began to explain.

"Voldemort made Horcruxes. 'A Horcrux is a piece of the soul placed into something else for safekeeping,'" Harry quoted one of the books he read back in the library. "In order to make one, you split your soul and put half of it into something else—no, that's not right. You actually crack your soul into a bunch of pieces and put one of those pieces into something else."

"How exactly does that happen?" asked Remus again.

"Murder. According to what I read over Dumbledore's shoulder in the memory, when a wizard murders someone, the soul cracks. The books say it will heal over time, depending on how remorseful you are. So, if you want to make a Horcrux, you murder someone and crack your soul, then use Dark Magic to put part of it into an object. Until the object is destroyed, you can never be killed because part of your soul is always safe. That's what Voldemort did. It was his Horcruxes that kept him from dying."

Remus sat down on the bench. "I notice you're using the plural."

"Yeah, Dumbledore figured that he created at least one of them on purpose and a second one on accident."

"Accident?"

"Yep. An accidental Horcrux happens when a Horcrux has been created, then before the soul has a chance to heal itself, that person murders someone else in the presence of very strong magic."

"Blood wards," Sirius whispered. "That's what you meant by helping him live. You're telling us that you're the accidental Horcrux?"

"Dumbledore thought that was why my scar hurt."

"And the other one?" Remus asked.

Harry noticed that he seemed to have aged from the conversation.

"I destroyed it years ago, before I even knew what it was, so there is one left to destroy." he pointed to his head.

"Where in the BLOODY HELL did you learn this tripe?" Sirius demanded, forgetting that Harry had just told him.

"Like I said, a book. It was in Dumbledore's office. I saw it in one of the memories he showed me."

"Books on the Dark Arts are just as often wrong in the particulars as they are right," Remus reminded Harry.

"It seemed to work for Voldemort, didn't it? Dumbledore believed it too."

"So you're telling me that in order for Voldemort to die, you must die too?" Sirius asked, bordering on outrage.

"It looks that way, unless there is another way that Dumbledore didn't know."

"Bugg—"

Remus quickly cast a second spell, limiting them from hearing Sirius's expletive binge. "Let's go inside. Sirius will come in when he's finished. I've seen him last like this for three-quarters of an hour, and they're words you don't need to learn for a very long time."

Harry nodded and started walking back to the Burrow. Remus caught up with him and whispered, "Don't worry Harry. Once Sirius calms down, we're going to find out what this is all about and figure out a different way for you to get this . . . Horcrux out of your head.

"Thanks." He smiled at Remus, but it was only for his former professor's benefit. Harry knew what his future held. If it ran true to his past, there could only be one path. He again would have to make a sacrifice so others could go on about their life.

Harry didn't know the phrase "Passover lamb," but that was exactly what he believed of himself. He would have to die so that death would pass over others. Some might even call it a messiah complex, but that wouldn't be right. At age fourteen, Harry just thought that was how things were.

Dinner was a quiet affair. The reality of the last twenty-four hours settled over the Burrow like a winter fog that permeated the skin, leaching away warmth and comfort.

"How are you coping, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"I don't know. I feel like my insides are about to explode, it hurts so much, and a bit later, I'm laughing and carrying on like nothing happened. I feel guilty for laughing and that makes me feel like my insides are about to explode again."

"Good," She said, surprising Harry. "Believe it or not, that's normal." She ladled more stew into his bowl. "Everyone deals with death differently. Some laugh and make jokes about it, others cry and mourn, and still others do neither or both. What do you think the twins would be doing now to deal with their grief?"

Harry thought about it for a few seconds. "I don't know, maybe find whoever did it and make one of their pranks _accidentally_ go wrong."

"Possible," she allowed, and refilled Fleur's bowl over her muted protests. "However, I think they'd be in here with those blasted stink bombs and whatever it was that left feathers all over their room last summer, maybe even a few fireworks. Could you see them doing that?"

Harry gazed off into the kitchen, remembering the first time he was there. The twins and Ron were in trouble for taking the flying car to break him out of the Dursley's house. Entering the back door, the Burrow felt so much more like a home should feel. The biggest difference wasn't the mess, the chaos, or anything else such as that. It was a mum that _loved _her children.

He thought about the twins teasing Mrs. Weasley about fancying Lockhart and de-gnoming the garden that day. Whatever the situation, they had a joke or prank for it, including trying to cheer him up with the Marauder's map and other types of mischief over the last couple years at school. They did it that way because it was their nature.

"Yeah," Harry finally answered. "They'd probably take it as a challenge to make everyone laugh."

"Would that have meant they didn't care about their father or sister or brothers?"

"No," he admitted. "But I still don't feel right being able to laugh after their deaths."

"Neither did we." Sirius pushed his stew away. "But in the first war, your father, Remus and I quickly learned that it's more important to feel something, than nothing at all. _Anything_ you feel right now, is the right thing to feel, regardless of whether it's having fun, being sad, or even anger. It's only when you don't feel anything, that you need to worry, okay?"

Harry tried to process that, but it didn't make sense. "So it's okay to act as if I couldn't care less that my two best mates are dead?"

"That's not what he's saying," Remus cut in. "When you were talking with Cho on the couch, Susan Bones was in here crying so hard she almost hyperventilated. We had to put up a couple of spells so she wouldn't interrupt you. But by the time you were finished comforting Cho, Susan was able to tease you about taking witches into a broom closet. Dealing with death is like that. It's like chasing a Snitch and you just have to go with it."

"But—"

Sirius leaned in to make sure he had Harry's full attention. "Remember, the only death you are familiar with, happened when you were a baby. This is going to be different."

"I guess so."

Mrs. Weasley reached over and pulled him into a hug. "I cried for hours last night. Then this morning when you came through the door, I was the ecstatic. This evening however, when you came through the same door and Ron wasn't with you, I went back into my room and cried for an hour. But that doesn't mean I didn't have fun today. I really enjoyed smacking your godfather around this morning at breakfast."

"That's always fun," Remus quipped, and smacked Sirius on the back of the head. A moment later, the two of them were chasing each other around the Burrow and casting jinxes everywhere. Harry and the two witches hid behind shield charms and laughed.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Later that night, they were all in the sitting room. Sirius was still twitching from a particularly nasty jinx.

"Molly, you wouldn't happen to have a shirt I could sleep in, would you?" Fleur asked.

"Sure. I'd offer you one of my nightgowns, but my daughter swore she'd never wear one. She said it made me look like 'a cow with a hip engorgement charm.'"

Sirius laughed, spraying butterbeer all over himself. "Damn it, Molly!"

She pulled out her wand and cleaned it up in one pass. "Arthur spewed Firewhisky across the room when she said it."

"Spew?" Harry repeated.

"Yeah, he—" Molly began, but was cut off by Harry.

"No, SPEW. I can't believe I forgot about the House Elves!"

"But I don't have a house-elf," Molly said, confused by the change in conversation.

"No, the house-elves at Hogwarts. How could I go all day without finding out if Dobby and Winky are alive? I have to go back there."

"NO!" three voices shouted at the same time.

"What is so special about this 'ouse-elf?" Fleur asked.

"He's my friend. He tried to help me a couple of years ago." Harry left out the part about _how _Dobby had tried to help him. It was some of the most painful help Harry had every received, but he was still grateful.

"If 'e is bound to you, then just call 'is name and 'e will 'ear you."

"But he isn't bound to me. He's a free elf."

"You can still try. If 'e likes you that much, 'e may still 'ear you."

"Really?"

"You've nothing to lose," Sirius answered. "Might as well try."

Harry looked back and forth between Fleur and Sirius. They were both watching him with expressions that alternated between awe at his ability to care for others and sadness at another potential loss.

"Dobby!" Harry called, without much conviction, but to his surprise, the house-elf appeared in the Burrow.

"Harry Potter is alive?"

"I am." Harry laughed and slid down to the floor, bracing himself for what was coming. Dobby ran at him, slamming into him and throwing his arms around Harry's neck.

"Dobby be glad Harry Potter lives. Dobby thought Harry Potter. . . that Harry Potter had. . ."

"It's okay, Dobby. I didn't. How are you and Winky?"

Dobby's eyes widened to twice their normal size. "Dobby should learn not to be surprised by the greatness of Harry Potter. He even asks about house-elves after the terrible battle."

"Of course I would, Dobby. You're my friend. I want to know if you're okay."

"Dobby is honored by Harry Potter. Dobby and Winky is okay."

A change came over Dobby and his demeanor was one of such hatred, Fleur caught herself reaching for her wand.

"Bad, bad wizards come. They saying Harry Potter is dead and they be killing Dumbledore. But already sir, we know about Dumbledore, yes we did. We be house-elves. We know when master dies."

"Master?" Harry interrupted.

"Yes, Harry Potter. Even if he pays Dobby, Dobby considers him master while working there because he is great wizard like Harry Potter. But the bad wizards be killing master and want to live at Hogwarts. We don't let them, sir, not at all."

"What do you mean," Harry asked.

"House-elves are powerful in magic. More than wizards believe. Wards and bonding to families limited magic, but Dumbledore freed house-elf magic, yes he did." Dobby's eyes narrowed and a feral grin appeared. It was the most dangerous Harry had ever seen the elf. "It comes as nasty surprise to bad wizards in masks and black robes. They not be trying that again for a while."

Sirius whistled. "A brassed off house-elf with freed magic is a terror to behold."

Molly and Remus nodded in agreement while Fleur sat there stunned. She'd never thought of house-elves as anything more than servants. Of course, she treated them nicely. But the idea of befriending one, or the concept of a free house-elf fighting for a wizard never crossed her mind.

"Be careful, Dobby." Harry warned him. "There's no need for you to get hurt in a stupid Wizarding war."

"Dobby is free elf and friends with Harry Potter because he is a great wizard and freed Dobby from bad master. Dobby chooses to fight on the side of Harry Potter. Does sir call me to discuss strategy, or does Harry Potter have something for me to do?" he asked, bouncing on his heels in anticipation.

Fleur sat quietly on the settee, watching the unbound house-elf treat Harry like he was a beloved master. It was just one more piece in a very strange puzzle.

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind getting our stuff from school," Harry asked. "Oh, and could you tell my owl, Hedwig, that I'm at the Burrow. She'll know where it is."

Dobby's face lit up. "Thank you Harry Potter. I do it right away." Before Harry could say another word, the elf disappeared.

Fleur laughed. "Is everyday like this for 'Arry Potter?"

Harry slid back into his chair. "What do you mean?"

"'Arry Potter," she mimicked Dobby again, "since this morning; sir has been at wand point once; told off the 'ead of a major government ministry; 'ad two pretty witches kiss you, one on the lips; and two witches crying on your shoulder; and 'ad a 'ouse-elf that is not bound to you, worship the ground you walk on."

"Let's not forget," Sirius tagged on, "that Harry Potter woke up next to a beautiful young witch this morning as well."

"That's right! 'E was even using me as a pillow!"

Harry would have rather played Quidditch naked than sitting in the Burrow at that moment.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur levitated Harry's trunk up the stairs an hour later.

Once in the room, Harry opened his trunk and took out clothes for the night. "I'm going to take a shower, do you—"

"I 'ope you're not inviting me to shower with you? What kind of witch do you think I am?" Fleur teased.

Harry turned bright red (again).

She decided to let him off the hook. "Thanks for the warning 'Arry, but no. I don't need the bathroom." Fleur walked back down the stairs, turning pink and questioning why she would even think to say such a thing to him.

Back in the sitting room, she noticed a picture of Harry and the other Gryffindors from his year, lying on the table. She picked it up and studied it.

"Remus, you were 'Arry's professor last year, no?" she asked after a few minutes.

"I was, what is on your mind?"

"Could you tell me who this is?"

Remus leaned over and looked. "That's Neville Longbottom."

"Why does 'e look like 'Arry?"

"What do you mean? I thought they looked nothing alike."

"Physically, no. But a Veela learns to always look at body language and facial expressions, especially around the eyes. Because of our abilities, we must be able to determine when a wizard is in control of 'imself, or when we are affecting 'im. It teaches us to see many things in the expression. In this picture, there are three boys whose eyes betray them."

Remus looked at the picture and saw only his students from the previous year. He looked back at Fleur for an explanation.

"See this boy 'ere? What is 'is name?"

"Seamus Finnigan."

"Watch 'ow 'e laughs, but 'is eyes do not. When people laugh, their eyes get wider, or smaller. 'Is stay the same. I think 'e 'as seen violence, and expects to see more. 'E doesn't come from a nice place, no?"

"His home was Belfast. He's seen a lot of violence in his life."

"Then, there is Neville and 'Arry. They are uncomfortable around other people, like they don't know who they are. That's clear in the body language. But something 'as 'appened to them too, and that something controls them. Watch 'ow there eyes. . . 'ow do you say it, flit? Yes, flit back and forth like they are waiting for an old 'orror to return, something that they can't stop, like fate. These eyes are old. 'Arry's are much older and 'ave grown even older since last night; but neither wizard, as young as they are, should 'ave eyes like this."

Remus stared at the picture. "It makes sense I guess. You know Harry's story, or at least the larger parts of it. But Neville, he lost his parents a couple of days after Harry did."

"They were killed too?"

"No. His parents were tortured with the _Cruciatus _Curse for twelve hours. The Order shared many of the same wards, so the person who betrayed Harry's parents was able to tell the Death Eaters what wards they would come against. It was how Voldemort got passed the inner wards so quickly when he came after Harry, and it was how Neville's parents only woke up when they heard the Death Eaters in the house. They barely had enough time to hide Neville in the closet and put the proper charms on it. It probably saved Neville since they couldn't hear him cry. Unfortunately, no one else could either and he almost died from dehydration and malnourishment. In a last attempt to find him three days later, his grandmother went room by room and discovered the closet under an inventive Notice-Me-Not charm."

"'Ow do you know this?"

"I was the one leading a group of Order members to find Neville. After seeing him last year, I wondered if permanent damage had been done by my failure to find him sooner, but from what I heard today, I guess not."

"What 'appened to 'is parents then?"

"They're living in St. Mungo's, tortured into madness.

Fleur shook her head. "It is so unfair. Unfair for 'Arry, for this Neville, for the families that lost their children last night."

"Unfair?" Sirius echoed as he walked back into the room from the kitchen. "There is no such thing as fairness, not a damn shred of it in this life; especially for Harry."

Fleur caught the look he shared with Remus, and read it as well.

"What is wrong with 'Arry!" she demanded.

"Nothing I can talk about," Sirius answered. "You'll have to ask him."

"_C'est des conneries!_—'ow do you say in English. . . this is bullshit! First 'is family is killed. Then I find out 'is relatives are abusing 'im. The family that adopted 'im died last night. Then there is the prophecy and now you are saying there is something else?"

"What prophecy?" Remus asked, though it came out very close to a growl.

"The prophecy that was said when 'e was born. 'Arry must be the one to kill Voldemort. Neither can live while the other survives, it says. 'Arry was marked by Voldemort as 'is equal and now, 'e cannot escape it. What the 'ell else can 'appen to the boy?"

Silence.

Finally, the chair creaked as Remus got up to go to bed. "You'd be surprised," he whispered, suddenly too exhausted to stay awake.

Fleur pondered Remus's surprising last words while losing herself in the picture of the five young Gryffindor men. It was taken after a Quidditch win and Harry, despite what she pointed out to Remus, still looked happy.

After deciding she'd given Harry enough time to finish his shower, Fleur went upstairs to return the picture.

The light was on and the door ajar. Quietly, she pushed it open and looked in. Harry was standing with his back to her, stripped naked and drying himself off. Try as she might, Fleur couldn't turn away. She was entranced and enraged by the same red, blue, purple, and green lines on his shoulders and back that girl Cho was tracing this afternoon. They looked like interlocking spider webs, spreading out from every place Voldemort's curses had hit Harry's body.

As she watched, Harry took a sock from the trunk, muttered a simple cleaning charm, and laid it on his arm where the Death Eater sliced it open. With one end in his teeth, he managed to tie it, using it as a makeshift bandage, but Fleur noticed part of the sock was already turning red. Harry ignored it and put on a pair of boxers.

"'Arry?" she called quietly when he had them on. She caught the immediate flood of pheromones in the air again as Harry answered.

"Wait a second, I'm not dressed."

"Too late. I'm already in 'ere. You left this downstairs, I thought I'd bring it up to you." She handed over the picture.

"Oh, thanks," he said, taking it from her and putting it on the table.

Fleur stepped towards him and ran her hand lightly across his back. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" he asked as he turned around to face her.

"About this," she said, tracing the marks on his chest now. "These are broken blood vessels. It took a lot of force to do that." She paused. "Lie down, 'Arry."

"Why?" he gulped, not really getting the single-word question out.

Fleur smirked as she heard the question for what he was really asking. "Because I'm going to 'eal you, you silly boy."

Harry laid down on his stomach. When he was situated, she gently touched the center of a mass of multi-colored lines with her wand. Harry jerked, his body almost clearing the mattress.

"'E really 'urt you, didn't 'e?"

"It hurts a little," Harry said, not really answering her question. "I think I was more surprised by the wand touching me."

Fleur let out an exasperated sigh, realizing Cedric was right. Harry really did minimize everything.

She began again, this time placing her hand gently on his back, then resting her wand on the back of her hand and lifting up on the backend. As the tip lightly touched his skin, she whispered a charm and watched as his hands flexed once in response to the pain. The purple mark turned green, then yellow, then disappeared completely.

She removed her wand and pressed lightly on the spot. "Does it 'urt now, 'Arry?"

"No, how did you do that?"

Once again proving she was a quick learner, Fleur ignored the question and flicked the center of the newly healed spot with her finger.

"Ouch!" Harry yelled, and definitely cleared the mattress this time.

"I knew you were lying, 'Arry Potter!" Fleur spat out in a rush of emotion, her accent thickening. "The next time I ask eef eet 'urts, and eet does, I expect you to say, OUI!"

"We?" Harry asked, reaching up to massage the spot on his shoulder.

"_Oui_!" She responded, forcefully.

"Why 'we'? Why not 'us', or 'my', or even 'I'? I'd think 'yes' would work even better."

Fleur tried to hold on to her scowl. "Now 'e's trying to be cute?" she mumbled.

"Eef you think I'm cute," said Harry, playfully mocking her accent (and surprising himself), "Gabrielle weel be very jhealous."

"You are impossible!" she huffed, turned red, then lost the battle to keep the scowl. They both laughed.

Ten minutes later, Harry's back _was_ feeling much better. An amused Fleur wondered if it was the spells, or having her hands all over his shoulders, back, and down his side to the top of his hip bones that had helped the most.

"I think I'm finished with your back. Now turn over."

"No."

"What? Why not?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"I don't think that's a very good idea at the moment."

Fleur scrunched her eyebrows together, trying to figure out what was wrong. But once she caught the strong scent of pheromones again, she realized Harry was probably having _that problem, _and was trying to save her from noticing.

"That's okay 'Arry. We'll take care of those bruises tomorrow," she suggested, inwardly touched at his consideration. She'd known too many wizards that would have tried to take advantage of the situation.

"Goodnight, 'Arry."

"Goodnight," he mumbled back.

She was almost through the door when she heard him again.

"Fleur?"

"Oui?" she answered. They smiled, but Harry's smile faltered rather quickly.

"Thank you."

Fleur heard the words, but saw much more. The broken spirit and deadness had returned. She'd hoped that finding Sirius alive would have changed it, but it was a vain hope.

She walked back to him and sat on the bed. "Non, 'Arry, it is you I need to thank, and ask for forgiveness. this year I 'ave treated you like the leetle boy I thought you were. But instead, I find in the second task, then again last night, that you are a 'ero trapped in a young man's body."

Harry tried to speak, but Fleur put her finger on his lips. "Non, please listen. Your 'Eadmaster told me that I was the third life you 'ad saved—why are you laughing?"

"No reason, please go on," said Harry, trying to stop.

"Non! I want to know."

"It's nothing, I promise."

"'Arry, if you don't tell me, then the next time we are in public, I will throw my Veela magic at you and make you embarrass yourself."

"Resorting to threats now?"

"If that is what it takes, yes," she answered with her own self-assured smile.

"Don't you mean 'Oui'?"

"'Arry!"

"Alright, alright." He grinned at her response. There was just something about the way she said his name.

"It's just that, well, I guess he miscounted."

"Miscounted?"

"Never mind. It's late and if Mrs. Weasley finds you sitting on my bed, we're both in trouble."

"Don't change the subject," she demanded in mock anger. "Who mis. . . No! You mean you've saved more then three people?"

"When we were Firsties, Ron and I saved Hermione from a mountain troll that had been set loose in Hogwarts, though somehow I managed to get my wand stuck up its nose. It was not fun cleaning it that night."

"A mountain troll?"

"Yeah," Harry laughed at the memory now. "Scared the goblins out of us, too. But we did it. When the Professors caught up, Hermione lied to get Ron and I out of trouble for sneaking off. That was the day the three of us became best mates. Except for spats here and there, we've been inseparable pretty much ever since."

"'Arry, after everything else, I 'ave learned to believe you. But do you know 'ow incredible that sounds?"

Harry turned to lie on his side so he could face her better. "It was the best thing that could have happened to us. I guess it prepared us for the last few years, like the time Ron and I went down to find Ginny. . ." his voice trailed off. "Fleur?"

"Oui?"

"Are you using your Veela magic on me?"

Fleur raised an eyebrow. "Non, why do you ask?"

"This is the first time I have ever told this type of stuff to anyone other than Ron, Hermione, or Dumbledore, so why am I telling you?"

"I don't know 'Arry. But I am 'appy you trust me enough to tell me."

She stood up to leave again. "I should be going to bed."

"Thanks again," Harry said. He pulled the sheet and blanket up to his neck. But Fleur could still see him pull his knees up to his chest, his elbows tucked in. The dichotomy again baffled her. After showing so much strength and power, here he lay in bed like a helpless child, afraid to be left alone in a room . . .

. . . left alone in this room. His best friend's room. The same one who died last night. "'Arry, do you want me to sleep in the other bed?"

"No, it's okay. You'll probably be more comfortable in Ginny's bed."

"You are the most stubborn wizard! Don't lie to me."

Harry seemed to sink deeper into the bed and looked completely vulnerable. "I've never been in this room alone at night. Everywhere I look, I see Ron. I keep expecting him or Hermione or Ginny or one of the twins to walk through the door. Every time they don't, it's like they die all over again."

It took her all of a second to make her decision. A few minutes later, Fleur walked back up the stairs to the bedroom, wearing an old t-shirt that she hadn't worn since last summer and knickers. As she entered the room, Harry caught his breath and groaned quietly before turning over to face the wall. But as he did, he grunted in pain.

"Are you alright?" she asked, grinning.

"Yep," he answered quickly.

"Don't lie to me, 'Arry. Should I come over and 'eal your chest now?" Fleur bit down on her lip to stop herself from laughing. She knew she was being a little cruel to Harry, especially after the dreams he probably had last night. But in truth, she was enjoying herself. There was something about his innocence, his ability to make her feel safe with her sexuality as a part Veela that drew her to him. Yet, it wasn't a sexual draw per se, more like she could, well, _be myself. The last time that happened, I was Gabrielle's age._

"No," he responded, drawing her back to the moment. "You should definitely stay over there."

Fleur bit down on her lip even harder to stop from laughing, and thought about telling him what she _was _planning on wearing to bed. Then she realized that'd be _completely _cruel. Instead, she crawled into bed and waved her wand, turning off the light.

"Goodnight, 'Arry."

"Goodnight, Fleur."

"'Arry?"

"Yeah?"

"If Molly wakes us up tomorrow morning and we're lying like we were this morning, I'm blaming you."

Fleur was rewarded with a blush that radiated in the moonlight flooding the room. With that, she rolled over to fall asleep, a smile plastered on her face.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Two hours later, sleep still hadn't come. The bed was comfortable enough, as was the pillow. But Fleur's mind would not stop racing.

What was she doing? Why was she flirting with a fourteen year old? _Was _she flirting with him?

Yeah, I am, she finally admitted to herself. But why?

The second task. It really did start there.

Fleur was standing on the shore, wrapped in blankets and being consoled by Madame Maxime, who was telling her that Gabrielle would be okay. But an irrational fear had taken over and Fleur knew she'd never see her sister again. She doted on Gabrielle. More than once, Fleur had skipped out on friends to come home and spend time with her sister, and the feeling was mutual. According to Gabrielle, Fleur wasn't just a big sister, she was everything Gabrielle wanted to be. How lucky was it that your hero, was your very own big sister?

But Fleur knew that heroines don't fail like she did that day at the lake, and failing, made her a failure at being a heroine for her sister. _If there is a god in heaven, please bring back Gabrielle_—she remembered saying to herself. Almost in answer to her prayer, three heads popped up out of the water. By the time they had reached the shore, Fleur was flailing, trying to get away from Madame Maxime and get down to Gabrielle. A few seconds later she'd broken away and ran to her sister.

Fleur felt like such a fraud, holding her sister and hoping that she'd understand that Fleur had done everything she could. But regardless, she felt so grateful to have Gabrielle in her arms again. Then her eyes fell on the little boy who saved her, that bested the heroine.

Lying in bed, Fleur wiped away tears as the memory finished. No one else knew that she woke up every night the following week, crying because she had dreamed that Gabrielle was dead. Those dreams gradually changed to reflect what had actually happened, then went even further until one night, Gabrielle made it, but Harry didn't.

Fleur remembered the utter panic she felt when she woke up that night. A little boy died doing what the heroine couldn't. But what little boy would sacrifice himself? Why would Harry wait to save Gabrielle, and sacrifice his place in the standings or worse yet, his life?

Those were the questions, and the night, that everything began to change as Fleur asked herself what she would've done. That was also the night she realized introspection could be more painful than a dozen _Cruciatus _Curses.

The next day, she remembered seeing Harry in the dining room and smiling at him. He smiled back, a plain, simple smile. It was the first time she realized that his smiles weren't filled with want or lust and she felt—comfortable? Was the right term?

She spoke with Harry quite a bit after that day, often telling him what Gabrielle had said about him. She found that she enjoyed watching the young wizard blush. It was so. . .cute and innocent, and it made her feel even more comfortable.

Looking back on it now, she realized how thin her excuses to talk to him had become. A mere passing mention in a letter from a friend would be relayed to Harry at breakfast the next morning. But through all that, she still doubted his story about putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. At least, until last night.

Fleur folded her pillow in half, propping her head a bit higher so she could look across the room and watch Harry sleep. The memories of the last twenty-four hours now flooding back: Harry coming through the hedges to save her out of the curse in the maze, being shocked and flung to the ground by it; Harry, standing at the end of the pathway after she hurt him again with her words; Harry, suggesting they all take the cup and share the victory, not wanting to take it himself. Harry, landing on top of the hill and telling Cedric to come get the two of them and leave. Harry being bound and cast across the graveyard, but refusing their help because he wanted them to survive. Lying at the bottom of the hill, hearing him being hit with curses, watching him save her life with what the English call an Unforgivable; facing off with the most powerful wizard she'd ever seen, and winning.

Fleur skipped the scene at Hogwarts, knowing if she dwelt on what she saw in Harry there, she'd be in Harry's bed in under a minute, holding him close to her. But she couldn't forget the way he came to save her again, dueling and casting a snake, trying to protect her and telling her to leave so he could face them alone.

Then the cave. That was no fourteen year old boy who sat on the floor of the cave and stared into the fire. It was a wraith of a human tortured again by forces of Darkness and Wickedness. Then this morning, again the innocence as he woke up, and even more so when he was comforting her. She had never been held that way, had never cried on someone's shoulder. A large reason was her Veela heritage. It was in a Veela to be strong, matriarchal, even dominant if possible. But to be held by a male and cry while feeling safe; knowing that every touch, every whisper was out of concern without secondary motive? Why again, did he have to be fourteen years old? Or she, seventeen, almost eighteen?

On top of all that, there was the prophecy. He would have to face Voldemort again, not only face him, but kill him or be killed. This sweet, kind young wizard, this hero, this wraith and veteran of battles against the Darkness, would have to face death again. How could he really be only fourteen? Gabrielle was two years younger than him and at that age, he had already faced Voldemort twice, three times if the encounter years ago was included—four times including last night. _Zut, _and now she had sworn to a dying man that she'd care for him. Was that it? All these changes, everything she went through, was it fated so that she could care for Harry, protect him from himself as he protected everyone else? Was she to be his protector or big sister?

But what if she didn't want to be a protector, or a big sister? What if she wanted something else? With a fourteen year old boy? Or is he the wraith-hero with old eyes and a lifetime's worth of pain and responsibility. . .at fourteen?

"_Fortuna Virgo, vous êtes une pute_." She whispered to the heavens.

_Whatever happens, _she promised herself_, I won't get in his way, and I won't cause him any more pain than he's already endured_. Years later, she'd look back and shake her head at the utter futility of that promise.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"_Come now Lucius. Do you really expect me to believe that you gave the diary to the youngest Weasley in hopes of Harry Potter being killed in retaliation for the Philosopher's stone incident?"_

_Malfoy was prostrate before him on the floor. "My Lord I—"_

"_Crucio!" _

"_You do not know what it contained, or did your fancy yourself as powerful a wizard as me?"_

"_No, my Lord." _

"_You have cost me much! CRUCIO!"_

_Voldemort began wondering about his other horcruxes—the locket in the cave, Regulus Black's house elf couldn't get passed my defenses there; the ring; the cup. . ._

"_Crucio!" Lucius Malfoy jerked and bounced across the floor._

"_Now, my wayward Death Eater. You have failed me greatly. Though you did well cleansing the school. It is a pity so much Pure-blood had to be spilled, but most of them were already tainted with Albus's teachings. So what punishment is befitting you? Ahh, how lowly would it be, for a father to take orders from a son. Bring the boy in here!"_

_Draco walked in, white-faced and shaking. _

_Voldemort motioned him closer. "Do you choose to take the Dark Mark, young Malfoy, and redeem your father's honor?" _

"_Yes, my Lord."_

"_Then bear your arm." _

_Malfoy screamed in pain for the next twenty minutes as the mark burned in._

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry woke up, yelling and holding his scar as it bled. He could feel the Voldemort's wrath and hatred, sense the darkness within his very soul.

The light turned on and two very soft, but very blurry hands were on his face, wiping away the blood from his forehead.

'Arry, 'Arry, what's wrong!" Fleur was asking, her voice frightened.

"It's just a dream. I'll be fine."

"Then why are you 'olding your 'ead?"

"I get headaches when I dream."

"And you bleed too? You are lying again, 'Arry!"

Fleur took her wand and waved it over him, cleaning the blood that seeped out of the scar. "You are not going to dream like that again tonight," she promised him.

Before 'Arry knew what she meant, Fleur pulled the covers back and climbed into the bed with him. She spooned him again, reaching around and pulling him tightly into her body, letting her Veela magic out. She held him all night, chasing away his demons, or in this case, the demon called Voldemort.


	6. A Burrow Full of Truth

.

**Chapter Six**

**A Burrow Full of Truth**

The sun was shining through the bedroom window, brightening the room and gradually bringing Harry out of a deep slumber. A warm breeze blew across his chest and a light, intoxicating scent permeated the air. Harry refused to open his eyes, hoping to fall back asleep and enjoy what little heaven this world was currently offering.

The breeze blew again. Gradually waking up, he felt pressure against his chest, but it lessened as the warm breeze wafted over him once more. Other parts of his body began reporting sensations, each one a variation of 'soft and delicate'. The pressure on his chest increased and decreased in synchronous dance-step with the warmth breeze.

What perfected the moment, was a soft cross between a purr and a sigh.

Fleur snuggled closer to Harry, one arm under his head and the other folded between them, her hand on his chest pressing into him in rhythm with her breathing, her legs touching his – her bare legs, bare up to her knickers. . . .

Harry, now definitely awake, quickly banished the thought even as Fleur's breath blew across his chest again. But the dreams he'd had the last two nights, coupled with the current sensations of flesh and breath held his mind hostage.

As Harry lay transfixed, Fleur was being pulled out of her own slumber by the feel of Harry's warm body. She'd never felt so comfortable in a wizard's arms.

She decided to remain silent, thinking instead about what could be. All she had to do was open her eyes, stretch a little and kiss him. A single, deep passionate kiss was all that was needed to tell him what she was felt for him deep in her soul. The questions and concerns could wait for later – but what if later didn't come? Is that even more reason to act now? What if later _did _come and she found that she didn't like him like she thought she did?

For all of Fleur's beauty and innate sensuality, she had never had a boyfriend before. There had been dates and a good bit of kissing, even more than that a few times though she was still a virgin (which made her cousins laugh when they found out), but for all of that, she was almost as inexperienced as Harry when it came to relationships, and that made her unsure of herself when it came to real feelings. It wasn't really her fault. Most wizards only showered her with lust. Since that wasn't a deep emotion, she never had have to respond with her own emotions, or understand them.

But Harry? It was just one more thing that took her by surprise. He kept her guessing, and she found herself drawn to that as well, but what if that died out and how important is that and what about his age and what if that doesn't matter and _why am I so confused and what if this was all part of a Veela's way of falling in love_ _and_ _Mon Dieux did I just think the word love? I really need to talk to Maman, she'll understand. At least I can wait until I get to France and not spend every waking moment around Harry before I make a choice._

_But the way I feel here, lying in his arms, is. . . right. _Fleur sighed and snuggled even closer, deciding to enjoy the stillness of the morning and ignore all the questions racing around in her head.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Molly descended the stairs looking rather confused. "Have either of you seen Fleur?"

"No. Harry neither, why?" asked Remus, looking over the top of his book.

"I just went to wake her up and she's not in her bed. Did she say anything to either of you last night about going anywhere?"

"No. We talked about Harry and Neville," Remus remembered, "though she seemed upset about everything that's happened to Harry."

"I'd say," Sirius agreed. "The way she worried about him last night. . ." his voice trailed off and after a moment of contemplation, a grin grew from ear to ear. Molly quickly turned to make her way up five flights of stairs as fast as possible. Sirius came up right behind her, refusing to miss an opportunity to take the mickey out of his godson. Remus followed in the hopes of keeping everyone alive.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur and Harry were still lying in bed, pretending to be asleep when the door flew open. "HARRY JAMES POTTER WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Molly exploded.

"Mrs. Weasley!" Harry spun around so fast he got tangled in the bed sheets and almost fell right out of the bed.

"Don't 'Mrs. Weasley' me!" she thundered back at him. "I want to know what you are doing in bed with a witch in my house!"

"I. . . I don't know."

"Isn't that a shame!" Sirius chimed, stepping into the room.

"Don't encourage him," Molly snapped.

"I don't think he needs any encouragement at this point."

Molly cast a withering glare at Sirius.

"What? I just made sure he knew how to properly ward his wand yesterday. That's not encouraging him, it's being a good godfather!"

"OUT!" she shouted at the same time Remus grabbed him by the back of the shirt and forced him from the room.

Molly turned back to the couple in bed.

"Fleur."

"_Oui_, Molly?"

"Would you mind explaining to me why you are in bed with a fourteen year old wizard?"

"Molly," Remus interjected, "maybe we should wait until—"

"I AM NOT WAITING!" she exploded again. "I want to know why Frenchie thinks she can take Harry away from me!"

"Frenchie?" Fleur spat out, ready to showcase all the _interesting_ English words she learned at Hogwarts during the year.

Remus cut in. "Molly, no one is taking anyone away from you!"

"MY WIZARDING ARSE THEY'RE NOT!" Molly screamed as she spun around to face Remus. "Don't you DARE tell me that. They took my whole family away from me! My brothers, my husband, my sons, my daughter" –tears streaked down her cheeks – "and now she's taking Harry away! He's my last child and I can't lose him. I can't lose hi-m." Her tirade ended in sobs.

Sirius stepped into the room again and put his arms around her, easing her back down the stairs to the kitchen.

Remus waited until they were out of earshot before speaking to Harry and Fleur.

"I think you gave Molly a bit of a surprise."

"Zhis isn't what it looks like," Fleur immediately began to protest.

Remus laughed. "Do you know how many times I heard Sirius say the same thing when I was a Prefect? Don't worry, in this case, I don't need to know."

"_Non_, you do. 'Arry 'ad a very bad dream last night. 'E was yelling and clutching at 'is scare in pain. I was in zhe other bed, but when I 'eard 'Arry, I climbed in bed with 'im so I could give 'im better dreams. What else could I do? 'E was in so much pain and I 'ave never seen a scar bleed before."

At the word "bleed," Remus crossed the room in three steps, taking Harry's head in his hands and inspecting the scar.

"It was a very nice thing you did for him," he said a few moments later, "though I think 'better dreams' was probably an understatement, depending on how strong your magic is."

Fleur blushed, then blushed again when Harry looked at her.

"Is that why I've been dreaming about. . ." he stopped, turned red himself, and refused to finish the sentence.

"Yes, 'Arry. Zhat is why you 'ad dreams about me zhe last two nights. I used my magic to 'elp you 'ave good dreams, instead of dreaming about what you went through, or whatever it was last night."

Finished with his impromptu checkup, Remus let go of Harry's head. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thanks to Fleur, I guess."

Remus chuckled. "What were you dreaming about before Fleur decided to help you?"

"It's not important."

"I think your former DADA professor should be the one to determine if a bleeding Curse Scar and dreams that wake you up screaming in the middle of the night are or are not important, don't you agree Fleur?"

"Oui. 'E's right."

Harry leaned against the headboard, communicating his dislike at the turn of the conversation.

"Harry, we need all the information we can get. If the curse-scar that Voldemort gave you is hurting at the same time that you're dreaming, there are a number of things it may mean, especially with the other things you've told us."

"What other zhings? What are you 'olding back from me 'Arry?" Fleur demanded to know, remembering her conversation with Remus and Sirius the previous night.

Harry tried to ignore her, but Fleur continued to glare at him until he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Fine!" he said somewhat petulantly, breaking eye-contact with Fleur and turning back to Remus. "I was wrong. Voldemort made five Horcruxes, not including the diary we already know about." He purposefully left himself out.

"'Orcruxes? 'E made 'Orcruxes?"

"You know of Horcruxes?" Remus couldn't hide his surprise.

"Of course. Zhey're tied in with Rusalka myths in Slavic culture. A Rusalka was a beautiful young woman who was murdered and took zhe form of a nymph, succubus, or ghost. She couldn't die until 'er murder was avenged. In zhe myths, zhe murderer is said to create 'orcruxes so 'e – always a 'e – can't be killed, which explains why Rusalka are always around. Zhe Polish expand on zhe myth, calling zhe Rusalka 'Wila'. Wila are supposed to be strong fighters and able to lure men to do whatever zhey want. Zhese are zhe myths of our origins, told to Veela children. I didn't know 'Orcruxes were real."

"They are. Are there any myths about the Horcruxes themselves?" Remus pressed.

"No," she answered. "'Ow do you know 'e made a 'Orcrux?"

"Because I already destroyed one in my second year," Harry answered with a smirk.

Fleur's head snapped around so fast her blond hair hit both Harry and Remus in the face. "You did what?"

"You heard right. He's already destroyed a Horcrux, but enough about this," Remus added. "Get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast so we can explain everything to Molly."

He left the room and Harry slid down into the bed, rubbing his eyes. "When you said you were going to blame me if Mrs. Weasley found us sleeping together like yesterday, I didn't think you were going to set me up."

Fleur slapped him playfully on the chest.

"Oh, _zut!_ I forgot. I'm sorry," she breathed as Harry winced. "Let's get zhe rest of you 'ealed."

It took longer this time as there were many more marks on his chest and arms. Sirius even came back to check on them, but after sticking his head in the room, he went down stairs without a word.

"I zhink zhat is zhe last one," Fleur announced twenty-five minutes later.

"Thanks, I um, . . . with everything happening the last couple of days, I've. . . um—you've been. . . ." Harry stopped and stared at his hands.

Fleur decided to help him out. "Is it about zhe dreams?"

"No!"

She was successful (though barely) in restraining her laughter at his reaction. "If it is, 'Arry, it's okay. You don't have to be embarrassed, I'm zhe one that caused you to dream about me."

"That's not that big of a deal—"

Fleur pursed her lips and widened her eyes slightly, again flirting with Harry against her own will, or with it, she didn't even know anymore. Either way, she got the desired response.

"I don't mean you're not a big deal bodily—"

Fleur raised an eyebrow.

"Not bodily, I didn't mean it physically!"

Unmercifully, Fleur pulled out her 'hurt little girl' look to torture/flirt with Harry some more. "You don't zhink being close to me physically is a big deal?"

"No—"

She gave him another look.

"I meant yes, it's great being with you physically!"

Now both platinum blonde eyebrows were raised.

"NO! Not like that! It was only a dream, how would I know what—"

Fleur went for the kill-shot. "Was I good in your dream, 'Arry?"

He spluttered and went silent, flushing red before getting out of bed to leave the room in embarrassment, only to find that Fleur's healing hands and the current conversation had put him in the same state he was in the previous night.

Harry quickly jumped back into bed, laid on his stomach and pulled the covers up over his head.

Mirth danced across Fleur's beautiful features and she decided that she'd tortured Harry enough.

"It's okay. I know you would 'ave found it wonderful in your dream. A Veela's magic guarantees zhat you dream about me. Zhe amount of magic I push determines 'ow sexual your dream is. 'Owever, your own imagination supplies zhe rest. I pushed a good amount of magic because I didn't want you to suffer. I wanted you to zhink about me rather zhen zhe nightmares and I wanted to make sure zhey would not come back."

"Oh trust me, they didn't," Harry mumbled from under the covers, to Fleur's humor.

She reached over and pulled the covers back so she could see him. "Zhat's good, 'Arry, please don't be embarrassed about zhem. Zhey were my choice. I was only teasing a moment ago."

"Why?"

"Why was I teasing you?"

"No, why did you do that for me? Why are you staying around?"

For a brief moment, Fleur thought about throwing all caution to the wind and baring her heart to Harry, but that path wasn't one yet to be decided upon. She picked another, but just as valid reason. "Because I made a promise to your 'eadmaster zhat I would stay with you."

"You don't have to do that. I've been on my own many times before."

"_Non_, 'Arry, I will – and do you know why?"

"You really don't—"

"Answer me, 'Arry. Do you know why?"

"No," he finally confessed.

Fleur sat straight up and opened her eyes wide, bouncing on the bed in a rather humorous imitation of Dobby. "Because, 'Arry Potter sir is great wizard, yes he is! Fleur Delacour stay with 'Arry Potter sir. Bad wizards don't know about Veela anger, but teach 'em Fleur Delacour will! Teach bad wizard real good Sir."

Her attempt at levity somewhat succeeded and Harry cracked a smile.

Then, looking at her again, he began laughing.

"You're not laughing at my impersonation of Dobby, are you?" she asked, somehow already knowing his response.

"No," he answered, truthfully.

"Zhen what is 'Arry Potter laughing at Sir?"

He laughed even harder. "I just had a vision of you with Dobby's eyes and ears."

Fleur playfully swatted him again.

"Hey! Dobby doesn't do that."

"_Non_? Zhen what does 'e do?"

"He usually brings me presents and gives me food."

"You really care for 'im, don't you?" Fleur asked, noticing how his body language softened while talking about Dobby. What she didn't notice however, was how that small observation fell into place for her, or what it meant when it did.

"Yeah. I do. He risked much for me."

"Hmm," Fleur pondered. It would take her a couple years to realize why Harry's friendship with Dobby caused her to ask the next question.

"Does he do zhis?"

Fleur leaned in, lightly touching her lips to his. It wasn't the kiss she thought about before, the deeply intense kiss meant to confess her heart to him. This kiss was innocent, pure, even chaste as she slipped her hand behind his head and held him there for a second, before pulling away.

But it was far more than a kiss, because in the back of her mind - even though she refused to admit it - she knew exactly what she'd done. Harry didn't know and perhaps never would. But if they made it back to France. . . .

Fleur noticed the look on Harry's face and surprised herself by giggling. He looked Obliviated.

"I zhink I should go downstairs and straighten out zhe problem with Molly. You're probably still tired. Why don't you go back to sleep for a little while."

Harry nodded, but was unable to string together a coherent sentence. Fleur watched to make sure he hadn't slipped under her Veela magic, but he didn't show any of the normal signs. His inability to speak was simply a result of being kissed by Fleur, not "Veela Fleur". She grinned at him and pulled the covers up, leaving the room both happy, and even more confused.

_So much for waiting until we get to France. Damn, damn, damn. _

Fleur returned a few minutes later to find him asleep. Lightly touching him, she pushed more magic out, hoping the apotropaic touch was enough to keep his demons away.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Where's Harry?" Molly asked as Fleur descended the stairs.

"Still in bed. 'E needed more sleep after last night."

Molly spun around so fast the food she was preparing flew out of the bowl she was holding.

"_Non! Non! _Zhat's not what I meant! Stupeed English language!"

Fleur ignored the guffaws coming from the table and focused on the matronly witch in front of her. "I meant zhat 'e 'ad bad dreams and 'ad a 'ard time sleeping. I wanted to come down 'ere and speak with you alone since 'E doesn't need to see anyone upset at 'im."

Molly put the bowl down and picked up a towel, wiping her hands off. "You're right. That wasn't one of my better moments. I've been trying to not cry in front of him since he's lost so much already. But this morning. . . . I have to keep reminding myself that I am not his mother – It's difficult in the best of times. He's been through so much." The stern 'mother's lecture look' known the world over manifested. "But that doesn't change the fact that you are under my roof and while you're here, there are certain rules I expect you to live by."

Fleur opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by Molly, only to be cut off herself by Remus. "I think you should let Fleur explain before you say anything else. It'll save both of you a lot of embarrassment."

Molly turned back to Fleur. "Okay, then please explain how you ended up in bed with an underage wizard."

A little while later, Fleur concluded. ". . . And zhat's all zhat 'appened, I promise. Can you blame me for not wanting 'Arry to sleep in zhat room alone, or for taking away 'is bad dreams?"

"I guess not," Molly conceded. "That's what I get for jumping to conclusions."

"Jumping to conclusions? You thought we. . . is zhat what you zhink of me? Or 'Arry?"

"Of course not. It's just that I have a fairly good idea how a witch can affect a wizard's – desires, shall we say? Add to that the fact that you're a few years older and unnaturally beautiful. . . " she let the sentence drop.

"Do you zhink I 'ave 'Arry under Veela control like zome kind of puppet on zhe ztring?" Fleur's anger manifested in a deeper accent. "Is zhat what you zhink of me? Zhat I'm a Veela _pute – _'ow do you zay een English –a Veela whore, maybe zelling my body for 'Arry's protection zhe last few days?"

Molly stepped back and raised her hands. "No, no. I don't think you're purposefully doing anything to him."

"PURPOSEFULLY?" Fleur shrieked. "Zo you zhink I can't control my magic and am luring 'Arry accidentally?"

"Oh, dear, I'm making a mess out of this." Molly sighed. "Oh hex it all, I might as well be stunner-curse blunt about it seeing as how this conversation has gone all pear-shaped anyway."

She took a deep breath before beginning. "Harry's fourteen years old. Most boys that age are a walking set of hormones and would shag a dragon if given the chance, let alone a beautiful witch with a foreign accent. Throw in what most teenage boys believe about Veela sexuality and I'm sure he's been dreaming about riding you like a dragon the last two nights, even more-so if I understand how you affected his dreams.

"Now, add on top of that everything the two of you have endured together the last two days, the emotional turmoil, the loss both of you must be going through, and the inevitable closeness between the two of you due to what you've experienced together, and you have the exact type of situation that sends a wizard's dragon looking for a witch's treasure cave."

Molly glanced over at the two grown wizards sitting slack-jawed at the table. "Oh please, I raised six boys."

Half an hour later, breakfast was served and Fleur had finally recovered, though she still blushed every few minutes.

Sirius, showing a rare use of restraint, wisely left it alone. Instead, he was focused on Remus's recounting of what he learned upstairs about the Horcruxes.

"Five more?" Sirius clarified. How can any man break his soul into eight different parts?"

Fleur shook her head. "_Non_, zhat would be seven parts. Zhe diary, zhe five others 'e told us about zhis morning, and zhe part Voldemort still 'as."

"No, I meant eight," Sirius confirmed, refusing to look at Fleur. "I think collecting them should be the first task of the Order. If we can destroy them, then the next time Voldemort is killed, he'll be gone for good."

"Eight?" Fleur breathed.

"You mean the next time Harry kills him, according to the prophecy," Remus corrected.

"What prophecy?" Molly's voice boomed.

"'Ow can zhere be eight unless" – Fleur, still caught up counting Horcruxes, thought back to the abbreviated conversation with Sirius and Remus the previous night and gasped - "'Arry is a 'Orcrux, isn't 'e?" She demanded to know.

"HARRY'S A HORCRUX? WHAT IS THIS PROPHECY? - SOMEONE HAD BETTER START TALKING REAL FAST!" Molly screeched.

Sirius's fork clanked against his plate where he dropped it and leaned back in his chair. "I think it's time for the four of us to have a little talk about Harry."

Two decisions came out of the discussion. The first was that Sirius was going to Gringotts to pick up his family Pensieve. It had been stored in the Black vault as an heirloom since he was a child. With it, Harry could put his thoughts (and dreams as he thought about them) in it and they could try to identify where the other Horcruxes were.

The second decision concerned Harry directly. Sirius, Remus, and Molly were going to sit down and talk to him about the prophecy, the Horcruxes, and what he was doing with three books on the Dark Arts.

_Speaking of whom_, Sirius thought to himself, _It's time to wake him up_.

Half a minute later, he was upstairs. "Hey, Harry, dragon-dream time is over."

Sirius laughed at his own joke as Harry pulled the pillow over his head.

"You're father didn't like getting up either. But Lily found an ingenious way to get him out of bed. What do you know about the _Augamenti_ charm?"

"You wouldn't," Harry mumbled under his pillow.

"Ohh! That sounds like a challenge." He was amused by the speed which Harry moved to get out of bed.

Sirius sat down on the other bed as Harry dressed. "How did you heal so fast?" he asked as Harry looked for a shirt. Of course, Sirius had seen exactly how Fleur had healed him, but he hadn't had this much fun with someone since James.

"What are you talking about?"

Sirius opened the curtains to shed more light in the room. "Yesterday, you were covered in broken blood vessels and curse marks. Today, they're gone."

"Oh," was Harry's only response.

"Oh? What does 'Oh' mean?"

"It means, 'oh'," Harry answered, thinking quickly how to change the topic, but he wasn't quick enough.

"Hmm. Let's see now. I know you couldn't reach some of those marks on your back. Remus or Molly didn't heal you and I know I didn't." He crossed his arms and waited for Harry to confirm what he already knew.

"It was Dobby."

"Harry, has anyone told you that you're a horrible liar?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nice try. Fleur came downstairs and gave us an account of last night and she didn't mention Dobby at all. By the way, Veela myths mention their ability to heal others almost as much as their _other _charms. Now, if you had just told me it was Fleur, it wouldn't have been a big deal. But since you lied about it, it makes me a little curious as to her, um, method, shall we say?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Harry."

"Did my father ever tell you that you were a pain in the arse?"

Sirius smiled widely. "All the time. Makes me glad Azkaban hasn't changed me. Oh, and I happened to look in earlier. Healers don't usually put their hands all over you when they're performing their spells, nor do they do it in their knickers. I hope you enjoyed yourself."

Harry picked up his pillow and threw it across the room at Sirius, who caught it and threw it back at Harry even harder, knocking him back onto the bed.

Harry dropped his shirt and dove at his godfather, tackling him to the floor. Their laughter echoed through the top three levels of the Burrow as they wrestled. After the fourth time Sirius tied Harry up like a pretzel, he called an end to it and sat down on the bed.

"I have to go. I'm making a quick trip to Gringots.

"Why?"

"My father kept a Pensieve in the vault. It's supposed to be a Black family heirloom."

"What's the sense of having something like that if you don't have it somewhere that you can use it?"

Looking down his nose at Harry in a mockery of his parents snobbery, Sirius answered. "We are mere scum compared to the lofty and non-disowned Black family. How can we plunder the depths of their insanity – I mean intellect?"

Harry laughed with Sirius, but it was cut short by Harry announcing that he was going with him.

"No, Harry. It's too dangerous. You're a prime target."

But Harry was ready for that answer. "Exactly, so either I go with you to get money out of my vault now, or we get separated somehow and I end up going by myself or with Fleur. Do you think it's safe walking with a part Veela down the middle of Diagon Alley?"

"You're right. I'll take money out of my vault and you can use that."

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No way. I'm not taking your money, especially after you spent half of it on my Firebolt."

"Harry, the empty space from the gold used to buy the Firebolt didn't even register in the Black family vault. I have no one else to spend that money on besides myself."

"So spend it on Remus. Maybe he could buy something with it. I'm not taking your money."

"Stop being so stubborn James and take the money. You can pay me back when you get a chance."

"James?" Harry asked, a little surprised at the slip up.

Sirius shrugged. "We had plenty of these same arguments."

"Good. Then you're used to losing them. When are we leaving?"

Sirius muttered something about cursing Harry all the way back to Hogwarts before he answered. "I'll make you a deal. You get Molly to agree to let you go, and I won't say another word."

Harry started to protest, but stopped. "Okay."

After he finished his morning routine, Harry went downstairs with Sirius right behind him.

"Mrs. Weasley, I'm going to Muggle London today."

"What?"

"I need to go to Muggle London. I can take the underground and buses."

"There's no way you'll be safe in Muggle London. I don't think that's a wise choice."

"It's safer than Diagon Alley, isn't it?"

"Not really. At least in Diagon Alley, you could side-along Apparate with someone if something went wrong."

"But I really want to go to Muggle London!"

"As much as I act otherwise at times, I know I'm not your mother Harry, I can't tell you no. But I don't think it's a good idea and I would hope you'd be careful enough to listen to me."

"Okay. What if I just went to Diagon Alley with Sirius and picked up a couple things then?"

"I didn't think he was going to do any shopping. What if you're seen by a Death Eater?"

"Then Sirius can side-Apparate me home, just like you said."

She sighed. "Well, it's safer than Muggle London I guess."

Harry beamed at her, smirked at Sirius, and left the kitchen.

"You raised six boys and still fell for that?" Sirius asked after Harry went into the sitting room.

"No. I don't like it, but I know Harry well enough to know that he's going to find some way to get whatever he thinks he needs. He's as headstrong as any of my boys or Ginny. I swear he's another one of my kids. They were all the same. At least this way, he'll be with you."

Sirius gave her a knowing nod. "We might as well have our conversation with him before we go then. It'll give him and me time to discuss things later if he wants."

"I think that's a good idea." A maternal worry creased her face. "Please make sure he's safe, Sirius."

"I'll do my best. I think I'm going to take Remus with me too, just to make sure."

** X**

Fleur was sitting in Ginny's room while the other spoke with Harry. Once it was finished, Harry came upstairs to say goodbye to Fleur.

"Do you need anything?" He asked.

"_Non_, Dobby brought everything of mine 'ere last night. I 'ave everything I need. Zhank you though."

"There's a great chocolate shop there that was supposed to have opened over Christmas. I could get something for you."

"I know zhat shop. Zhey 'ave one in France and I was zhere last summer when zhey were talking about opening zhe shop 'ere. Zhe chocolate is great, but very expensive 'Arry. You don't need to buy me anything."

But she read the look he gave her, like he was holding back a coy smile, and knew he would buy her something anyway. It was, sweet. There really wasn't another word for it. Fleur almost gave in and told him her favorite type of chocolate, but stopped herself, both interested in what he thought she'd like, and also determined not to be the type of Veela that made wizards shower them with money and gifts.

As soon as Harry left, Fleur went to the window and sat on the bench, watching the three wizards walk out to the Apparation point. Why was the decision to jump into Harry's bed so easy and why did she kiss him? What did it mean, or did it mean anything?

She was so completely confused. Even her decision to wait until she got to France, a smart decision she thought, was too little too late. Maybe it was all because she was so tired. Pushing her magic out to affect Harry as they both slept the last two nights was wearing down her magic. She was a lot more tired than she let on.

But that wasn't the answer either. Something else was happening. She couldn't put words to it, but it felt like she was almost going through a second transformation. The first one, when her Veela nature took over at the age of thirteen was bad enough, but this transformation felt more painful and it wasn't even biological or magical. She was changing on the inside, but what was she becoming? She already became a Veela, or as much of a Veela as she would ever be. What else was there?

Moving back to the bed frustrated, she tried to clear her mind and fall asleep, but every time she closed her eyes, thoughts and memories replayed themselves; the memory of her lying in Harry's arms became more and more prominent. Why did Harry have to invade her thoughts like this? What was wrong with her and why did she keep flirting with him and why was she fighting the urge to run back to the window and yell out for them to wait for her so Harry wouldn't leave her sight?

Sitting back up in bed, Fleur noticed Ginny's letters again. _Maybe Ginny knows_, she thought to herself in a moment of levity. At least she understood the strange draw the young man had on a witch. It helped to hear the other girl's thoughts about Harry and maybe, just maybe, it'd help her organize her own.

**~ . ~ . ~**

_19 June, 1993_

_Dear Harry Potter,_

_How do I say I'm sorry? You suffered all year with people blaming you for opening the Chamber of Secrets, when it was Tom Riddle possessing me through the diary. Why did I have to hurt you like that? Why couldn't I have just stopped it? Why did Malfoy have to put that diary in with my books last summer?_

_And then after all that, you still saved my life. You battled Voldemort. The second time in two years, from what I overheard my brother say. You faced and killed that monstrous basilisk for me and almost died if Dumbledore's Phoenix hadn't put its tear where you got bit. _

_I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to get hurt again, especially over me. Please forgive me. _

**~ . ~ .~**

_Basilisk? He fought and was bit by a Basilisk? _Fleur shook her head at the incredulous story. She'd heard parts over the last year, including two nights ago from Cedric in the maze, but not like this. This letter was different than the last letters as well. Ginny hurt, because she hurt him. She was terrified, because she added to the pain he already had, and after all of that, he still saved her life, just like he did for Gabrielle.

Thinking back to her promise last night, Fleur cringed. Ginny had made that same promise in the previous letters, then broke them. Fleur flipped a few more pages again, and found an entry from last summer.

**~ . ~ . ~**

_31 August, 1995_

_Harry, _

_I'm so glad you're okay. When I saw the Death Mark above the forest the other night and knew you were in there, I clutched my wand and took off running. The twins chased me down and jumped on me before I could get to you, but I promise that if you are ever in trouble like that I will come to help you. I know I'm only thirteen and you're fourteen. I know I'm just Ron's little sister to you. I know that you will probably never see me the way I see you. _

_But I will always love you Harry. Not the stick-my-elbow-in-the-butter-because-I-saw-you type of love, but the type that you showed me; the type that says I would rather die than let something happen to you. _

"Oh, god!"

Try as she might, Fleur could not erase the image of the little red-headed girl lying next to her older brothers, dead, her wand scorched from battle. But that little girl—the phrase brought a lump to her throat; how many 'little' boys and girls have suffered on this god-forsaken island—died because she believed in Harry. Not in Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived that she first learned about, but in Harry, the young wizard she had grown to know and love. That was why she fought the Death Eaters two nights ago, why she didn't go with her _maman_ when Molly was helping the children escape.

She died for Harry, just as Harry was willing to die for Ginny, for the four Champions in the graveyard, for Fleur back at the school; just as Cedric was willing to come up closest to Harry and die for him, just as Krum had died for them.

Tears burst forth again as she thought about all the death, and moreover the suffering that boy Neville she heard about and Susan and others had to endure. She thought back to Seamus and what she saw in the picture, but above all, her thoughts revolved around Harry. She marveled at his spirit. The human spirit within him, and all of them, that thing that goes so far beyond the mere triviality of Wizard or Muggle, regardless of what the pure-blooded bigots said.

It struck her at that moment that she wasn't just a Veela. _She_ was also human and had the same spirit. The revelation made her cry all the more as she realized that the biggest difference between them and her, was that her human spirit didn't measure up to theirs.

It was quite a while before Fleur was able to read again, but she finally started, reading through the tears that continued to fall.

_I saw you last night, I couldn't sleep. I was in the hallway when I heard something and went up to see what it was. It was you. You were holding your scar. I know it's hurting and you don't want anyone else to know, so I won't say anything. But if it means anything about You-Know-Who, I will stand by your side with my wand in hand, because I believe in you that much Harry, even if you don't believe in yourself, and I am starting to get the idea that you don't. How can you not see in yourself, what Ron and Hermione and I see in you?_

_You're selfless, brave, shy, protective, caring, a great Quidditch player (maybe that should have been first). We talk about you Harry. We talk about all the good things in you. About how loyal you are, about how you never abandon your friends, about how you never try to bring attention to yourself, yet somehow it always shows up. _

_Please believe me Harry. There is so much in you. So much so, that if your scar means what I think it means, I am willing to die for you. I know this sounds corny. But it's the truth. I just hope I get to show it someday. _

**~ . ~ . ~**

The image of Ginny at Hogwarts forced its way to the forefront of Fleur's thoughts again. But this time, her dead body was animated, standing amongst the carnage, looking at Fleur just like her _maman _did yesterday, weighing and measuring the French girl.

_"I don't care about you being a Veela, are you a good enough human for my Harry?"_ The young redhead asked in Fleur's thoughts. _"Are you willing to die for him? Do you love him enough to save him?"_

Fleur shook with sobs, dropping the makeshift diary and curling into the pillow. It was too much, too fast. Everything she prided herself on in the past no longer mattered and everything that she ignored about herself was now important. This wasn't all about Harry, he was the mirror that reflected the truth back onto her, and the truth remained; Fleur was a beautiful Veela, but she was an ugly human being. It's no wonder she was bested by a fourteen year old wizard, why he was able to be the hero at the lake. _He_ was a better human being.

A knock on the door surprised her.

"Fleur?"

She desperately tried to clear her throat so her voice would sound strong. "Oui?"

The door opened and Molly came in to see her on the bed in tears. Silently, Molly walked across the room, sat on the bed and pulled her into a hug, rocking her slightly and rubbing her back.

After fifteen or so minutes, Fleur excused herself and went to the bathroom. When she returned, Molly broke the silence.

"We've had our discussion with Harry."

"What deed 'e zay?"

"That he felt like it fell to him, and he was going to do what he could to put an end to the war as soon as possible. He has the books to learn about the Horcruxes, though there are other things about his connection and powers that he needs to learn to control, and maybe use."

"But 'e can't. I can't let 'eem do zhat!" Fleur set her jaw in defiance.

"I know. It scares me too. I don't like Harry touching anything dealing with the Dark Arts because I'm afraid what will happen to him. But Remus made too much sense. Harry's path has been set since his birth, and the only thing we can do, is love him enough that he won't be engulfed by the journey. His destiny and magic has been so intertwined with _You-Know Who _that he may have no other choice but to use some of the Dark Arts against him. One thing you need to know about Harry. If there's anyone who can do it, it's him."

"But at zhe cost of 'is soul? I won't allow zhat to 'appen." She lifted the makeshift book of letters from the bed. "Jhinnee would not allow zhat to 'appen!"

"What is that?" Molly whispered.

"I found it in zhe pillow case. When I pulled it out, I noticed zhe letter on zhe first page, I didn't want to read it at first, but zhere was just something about it." Fleur paused for a moment. "I wish I 'ad known 'er."

Molly hitched a tight smile. "I'm not sure about that Fleur, her nickname for anyone who spoke French was 'Phlegm,' because of the way your language sounds. She had quite the mouth, but she was a very special witch."

Fleur ran her hand across the book. "I zhink I found zhat out."

Molly put her hand on top of Fleur's and Fleur looked up at her.

"I'm worried," Molly began. "When he confronted Madame Bones in the kitchen yesterday, I've never seen him so cold."

"When 'e watched Dumbledore die, I saw 'is spirit break. I 'ave never seen zhat before and I never want to see zhat again in anyone. I never knew it could 'appen. Why 'im? Why does it always 'appen to 'im?"

"I don't know," Molly answered honestly.

"'E's been through so much. I thought 'e was just a leetle boy at zhe beginning of the year. Now, I know zhat 'e's so much more. 'E saved my sister. 'E saved Ginny. 'E's a 'ero. E's—"

"Lucky to have you with him," Molly supplied, surprising Fleur. "I'm sorry for this morning. I'm sorry for calling you 'Frenchie', I'm sorry for yelling at you and assuming things about you. But even more so, I'm sorry for saying that you're taking Harry away from me."

Fleur had to replay the words in her head a few times to grasp the meaning, but it was there. Molly was treating her like an equal. She truly didn't hold a grudge, even though she had every right to. Fleur began to see the beauty in Molly and it quickly extended to Ginny (or at least her mental picture of Ginny), Remus, Sirius, Cedric, even Krum. It wasn't just Harry that gave until it hurt. It was all of them and they all had one thing in common. The human spirit. In that moment, so much became clear.

"I'm zorry, Molly. I was rude to you. I was rude to your zon during the zchool year. I 'urt 'Arry zhe night we were chosen. I 'urt your Ronald by my arrogance, when 'e was zeemply attracted to zhe veela, not even to me. But zhey both zaved my zeester's life. Later we found out she wasn't een danger. But zhey ztill deed it. Please forgeeve me!"

The two witches hugged and cried, mourning the losses of friends and loved ones and those they never knew. They cried into the early in the afternoon when Fleur excused herself to the bathroom again for more tissues.

She came back into the room and sat down on the bed. "Zhank you, Molly."

"Fleur, you're still holding back. There's still something eating at you. What is it?"

Fleur shook her head slightly and gave Molly a little smile, amazed at the witch's intuition. She decided to be honest.

"Everything. All the zhings I thought were important, no longer are. Everything I thought I was, seem to no longer matter. I don't know where to start."

"Then start with Harry," Molly ventured.

Fleur's eyelids snapped open. "What do you mean by zhat?"

"I'm a. . .was a mother of six boys and a witch who was in love with Harry. I think that makes me an expert in teenagers, and a specialist for this particular discussion."

"You zhink I am in love with 'Arry?"

"Are you?"

"Non," she answered reflexively, realizing that she sounded exactly like Harry did earlier in the day. But her instincts kicked off again, the same instincts that told her yesterday morning that it wasn't true when she watched Remus and Sirius hugging Harry and thought that he was finally with someone who loved him. Obviously it was true that they loved him, so, could it be that Harry had already been in the presence of someone who loved. . . ."

Fleur's eyes were growing wider by the minute.

"Answer the question too fast?" Molly grinned.

Fleur shook her head, still not wanting to admit it. _France. Have to get home and talk to maman. She'll love Harry. He could stay in - Stop this!_

Molly laughed out loud at the play of emotions on Fleur's face.

"It's okay Fleur, we don't need to talk about that if you're not ready." Molly hugged her again and left the room to make a late lunch for the two of them, but not before telling the younger witch that they could talk about the other stuff over the meal.

Fleur turned back to the mirror and assessed what she saw before heading downstairs. At least she wasn't ashamed now. Whatever the next day brought, she'd be a different witch. Now she knew; it wasn't enough to be a beautiful Veela, she needed to be a beautiful human being as well. But something told her that was going to be much harder to do. It didn't matter though, she knew she could do it, she just needed the time to learn how.


	7. How the Mighty Fall

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**Chapter Seven**

**How the Mighty Fall**

Harry, Sirius, and Remus Apparated to the steps of Gringotts. Looking out over Diagon Alley, they could see the vendors still selling their wares and plenty of shoppers about, but a businesslike, rushed tenor had descended on the Alley; as if those who came were anxious to be done and out of such a public area.

Sirius put his arm on Harry and turned him towards the burnished bronze doors leading into Gringotts. Walking into the large marble hall, they found a goblin sitting behind the counter seemingly unoccupied at the moment.

"We would like to go to our vaults." Sirius informed him.

"And who might you be, sir?" the goblin asked, looking at him over the top of his glasses.

"Sirius Black. I need access to both my personal vault and the family vault. I believe Harry wants access to his as well."

The goblin remained silent as he slowly reached down behind the counter—Muggle banks didn't impress goblins much, but their security measures were a different story.

Sirius saw the movement and chuckled to himself. "There's no need to call the Aurors." He pulled the previous days' paper from his robe and placed it in front of the goblin. "I'm no longer a wanted wizard."

The goblin snorted in disbelief before quickly pressing something below the counter. Two _cracks_ of Apparition echoed off the marble walls and Harry found himself staring at the tip of a wand, held by a very large, very intimidating, black man; his partner was standing behind them.

"Is there a problem here?" The man questioned in a deep, rumbling voice.

Harry had always respected Dumbledore's ability to control of his surroundings, but this wizard took that concept to an entirely different level. The voice alone commanded respect, but coupled with his calm demeanor, physical stature, and . . . well, everything; this was a wizard to behold.

His younger partner however, exuded an erratic but entertaining air about her, especially as she morphed into a very ugly, older woman whose shrill voice rang out, "The problem is this worthless shame of my flesh staining the Black family name!"

Sirius spun around, blood draining from his face, and his eyes widening as he brandished his wand; but a large black hand reached around him from behind and pinned his wand and arm against his body.

"It is unwise to draw your wand," the older Auror informed Sirius.

Harry didn't care and drew his wand to come to his godfather's aid, but Remus put a hand on him. He looked up to see the older wizard shaking his head and desperately trying not to laugh.

The female Auror, currently sporting the body of Walburga Black, morphed into her original form—a cute, though slightly lantern-jawed witch just a few inches taller than Harry.

"Mummy make you jumpy, dear cousin?" She waved off the older Auror.

"Tonks!" Sirius laughed and enveloped her in a tight hug, impressed with the witch who was his favorite cousin. "How are you doing?"

"Splendid actually. I'm an Auror now. Became one to take on the likes of you—big, bad, Sirius Black, Muggle-murderer extraordinaire!"

Harry looked around and saw the large Auror standing behind Sirius wince at Tonks's lack of decorum. Behind him, a number of goblins were staring. Tonks noticed them as well. She stepped away from Sirius and turned to the goblin behind the counter. "Did you call us about Sirius Black?"

The goblin nodded.

"Is this about him being wanted for multiple murders?"

Another nod.

Tonks raised her wand to her throat and whispered, _"Sonorous," _then addressed the bank.

"Sirius Black is innocent of all charges according to the Ministry of Magic. He is to be given all rights and access as afforded any other wizard."

She cancelled the spell before turning to her older partner. "Sorry, Shacklebolt, that probably should have been your call."

"Since I am the senior officer, have twenty-something years on you, and can whip your arse on the training course; I would say you're correct." His broad, welcoming smile told Harry that Sirius's cousin was already forgiven.

Next to Sirius, Remus winked. "Hello Tonks."

"Er, um, hello—REMUS?"

He grinned and she threw her arms around him. "You've grown so old!"

"And you've finally grown out of your nappies," he shot back.

"Want to come home with me t'night and see what I wear now?"

Remus turned bright red and Tonks let out a whoop that made half the Goblins jump, knocking over scales and scattering gold and silver coins across the floor. The older Auror grumbled again about her lack of professionalism.

Harry decided to let them be and stepped around the group. "While they're catching up, I would like to go to my vault."

"What is your full name?"

"Harry Potter."

"Is that really him?" he heard Tonks ask behind his back. Harry didn't have chance to answer as he felt someone poke him in the ribs rather hard.

"Hey, what the…!" He spun around.

"Yep, it's really him," his godfather answered.

Harry looked at Tonks. "How much would it cost me for you to turn back into Hagrid and beat on Sirius for a while?"

The look on Tonks's face elicited a deep booming laugh from the senior Auror. "It's about time someone put her in her place. Hello, Mr. Potter. I am Kingsley Shacklebolt." He offered a mammoth hand that swallowed Harry's as she shook it. Even Sirius's and Remus's hands were lost in his.

"If my partner is finished with her family affairs, we should get back to the department and report to them that nothing is amiss."

Tonks agreed and hugged Sirius and Remus again. Harry was surprised when she next hugged him tightly, whispering into his ear, "I'll see you tonight at the meeting. We'll prank Sirius."

Harry smiled; he liked her already.

The two Aurors walked out the front doors and Apparated back to the ministry. Harry wondered why they could Apparate into the bank, but not out of it, and asked the goblin as much.

"Protective Charms are set against Apparation, but they recognize Aurors when they're called for in emergencies," the goblin answered.

"How?"

"That's not for you to know, young wizard."

"Well, that was interesting," Sirius quipped with a trace of humor, still looking at the doors his cousin had just exited. He faced the goblin. "May we go to our vaults now?"

"Keys?"

"You know the Black family vaults do not use keys," Sirius reminded the goblin in a clipped voice.

The goblin inclined his head to Sirius before asking Harry for his. He produced the key and handed it over for inspection.

Satisfied, the goblin looked over his shoulder. "Madgouger, Take these three to the vaults."

Madgouger led them through another door and down a passage to the railway carts. Harry and Sirius crawled into the first one, Remus and Madgouger into the second and they began their descent, whipping through the underground caverns and heading deeper and deeper until they stopped in front of Harry's vault.

Harry hopped out and went to the door, handing over his key to the goblin. Madgouger opened the vault and stepped aside so Harry and Sirius could entered the dark, sealed room.

"How much do you think I should take?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, what do you think you'll be spending your gold on? Or should I ask, whom?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I guess it depends on how long everything lasts. If I have my trunk with me, I can carry enough to get by for a long time, but I don't think I'll need all that."

"What if you end up in France?"

"France?" the goblin asked from the entrance. "We have good working relations with our cousins at _Sorciers Banque de France_. We can transfer funds if you'd like. It would be safer than carrying bags of Galleons."

Harry and Sirius looked at each other. "What's the fee?" Sirius asked the goblin.

"Three percent."

"And the limit?"

"A hundred galleons a day and funds are made available the next day, but you would have no vault to use there. For seventy galleons, we can do a vault transfer," – he looked around Harry's vault – "up to half your vault's contents. It would go out in an hour, but you would not have access to it in France until a week from tomorrow."

"It's a good idea," Sirius said. "If the ministry falls to Voldemort, the new government will probably attempt to seize everything they can. The goblins will fight, but it got right nasty the last time and hundreds of families lost everything in their vault. I think you should transfer as much as you can to France so it's out of the reach of the Ministry whether you end up there or not.

"Are you going to do it too?"

The goblin and Sirius both laughed lightly. "The Black family has money stashed in vaults all over the continent. How else do you think I got your Firebolt for you?"

"You said you told them to take the gold from your vault in Gringotts?"

The goblin snorted. "Which one?"

"What?" Harry was confused.

"Goblins love naming their banks Gringotts. There are three others on the continent."

It was moments like these that reminded Harry he didn't grow up in the Wizarding world and what he didn't know because of it, could cost him dearly at some point in the future. Like this, for instance; what if he didn't have Sirius with him? Would he have known what to ask? It did seem like a good idea to get some of his gold out of England.

Harry put the questions out of his mind for the moment and asked Madgouger to do the vault transfer. Sirius confirmed that he was Harry's legal guardian and approved it. For the time being, Harry shoved a hundred Galleons and a stack of sickles into a bag.

Back in the cart, they descended deeper into the caves, stopping after three drops that left Harry feeling like his stomach was a few hundred feet back up on the track.

Sirius got out of the cart and, along with Madgouger, pressed his finger on the door. A Magical Signature Verification charm agreed that it was Sirius Black and a hiss escaped as the vault opened. Sirius's personal vault was just as full as Harry's, but it also held trinkets and treasures from his life that he'd stored over the years.

He pulled a box down from a shelf and blew the dust off. After removing the top, he reached in and palmed whatever was in the box.

"This was your father's," Sirius said to Harry quietly, almost reverently.

"What is it?"

"It's a symbol of one of our greatest times together. We were in Italy and stayed up all night trying to out-drink a couple groups of Marines—one British and one American, I think.

A ghost of a smile crossed his face, memories of a lost age and a damn good friend. "We noticed a number of them wearing what they called military rings. We thought it was a great idea and figured with everything we'd been through already, we should have one made for ourselves. It was just before we 'officially' joined the order.

"The night your parents were murdered," Sirius continued, his eyes focused on memories that Harry could only guess at, his voice filled with emotion. "I let Hagrid take you and I went back into the house to take care of James's and Lily's bodies. In those days, the Death Eaters were casting _Inferi_ Spells on the dead to make them do things in public for the sake of entertainment and humiliation."

He stopped for a second. Harry watched him choke back a specific memory before continuing. "I noticed he was wearing his ring around his neck on a chain. I took it and after taking care of the bodies, brought it, and mine, back to my vault, gave the chain to Remus, and set off to kill Peter.

Sirius extended his arm. "I want you to have it now. It belongs to you."

Harry hesitated. "Did Wormtail have one?" He didn't want anything that linked his father with that traitor, the Marauder's Map notwithstanding.

"No," Remus answered. "Your father and the two of us took a two-week trip to the continent. Peter said he had family business he had to attend to."

Harry took the ring in his hand. There was nothing magical about it, but he found it to be far more meaningful than any possession he owned save his Invisibility cloak.

Harry surveyed the ring. The band was gold, the stone a large, flat, black sapphire ruby, on which a Gryffindor lion's face made of gold sat, its mane extending back to the band on either side. The eyes were diamonds and the mouth was a deep red ruby.

Sirius heaved a sigh, lifted his own ring out of the box and slid it on his finger. "We were young, full of money and foolishness, and full of ourselves. We thought once the Marauders were a part of the Order, we'd destroy Voldemort and his Death Eaters within a few months."

Remus, who had removed a chain from around his neck, put his ring on as well. "You and James were full of money and we were all full of ourselves, but that doesn't negate two of the best weeks I've ever had." He handed the chain to Harry. "It was the chain your father had. Put your ring on it and wear it around your neck for safekeeping. Whenever you feel it or see it, remember that you still have family that love you."

"Family?" Harry asked, thinking of the Dursleys and knowing they didn't love him at all.

"Yeah, family," Sirius answered. "We're your family."

Harry smothered his emotions and put the chain around his neck. The ring was heavy, but not overly so. He tucked it under his shirt and the three of them went to the next vault over. After the same procedure with the goblin, the door opened and Sirius stepped in. A few minutes later, he came back out with the Pensieve (much smaller than Dumbledore's, but ornate) and they all re-entered their carts to ascend out of the caves.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Want some lunch?" Sirius asked as they left the bank.

"Sure," Harry answered. "Where are we going?"

"We should stay around here. The Leaky Cauldron? I haven't eaten there in ages."

A few minutes later, they found themselves seated at a table and their orders being taken.

"So, how are you doing with everything that's going on?" Sirius asked Harry when the waitress left.

"Fine, I guess. How are you doing?"

"I think what Sirius means," Remus clarified with a touch of humor, "is how are you coping with what happened the other day."

"Oh, okay I guess."

Sirius leaned into the table. "Just okay?"

"I guess so." Harry sat back in his chair. How _did_ he feel about what he'd seen and done over the last few days? Did he even want talk about it? "I guess it still feels like a dream," he temporized. "I haven't really had time to think about everyone dying."

"It's a lot to take in," Sirius agreed. "Molly wanted me to apologize to you for not thinking about what room she put you in."

"It's okay—"

"No, it's not," Remus interrupted. "Harry, stop making so little of everything that happens to you and everything you feel. It makes it exceedingly difficult for the two of us and Molly to help you."

"Not to mention a certain French witch," Sirius reminded him. "And I'm not just hexing your wand either. You're going to have to learn how to let people help you."

Harry fumbled with his utensils and was thankful for the fast service when the food was placed on the table a few seconds later.

"So, how do you feel about Fleur?" Sirius asked once the waitress left again.

Nice subject change, A humorless smile creased Harry's face. Out of the burning potion and into the scalding cauldron, just wonderful!

"I . . . I like Quidditch. Do you think the Cannons will ever be any good?"

"That's not going to work," Sirius answered, "So, one more time, how do you feel about her?"

"Why is it important?" he asked, getting a bit annoyed. "I think I have a few more important things to worry about right now."

"So, you're not interested in her then?" Sirius pressed for clarification.

"I didn't say that."

"Then you are interested in her."

"I didn't say that either."

Sirius turned to Remus, "Does this conversation sound familiar?"

Remus smirked. "Power converters."*

"And how."

Sirius took another bite of his lunch before trying again with Harry. "I know I tease you a lot, but now I'm being serious, no pun intended. Fleur Delacour is a whole lot of witch. She's smart, beautiful, and it seems, knows how to handle her wand as well. Having Veela genes only promises one of the three. She has her faults like everyone else, but she is a dem fine witch, sir, a dem fine witch."

Harry could only grunt his agreement, not sure what else to say.

"Maybe I'm going about this the wrong way. Let's start over." Harry waited as Sirius took another bite of his food before continuing the interrogation.

"I've noticed you and Fleur spending a lot of time together and over the last few days, it looks like the two of you have grown quite close. Relationships can be confusing at the best of times and with what the two you have done together, you probably have a hundred different thoughts running through your mind. Is there anything you'd care to share, or want to ask about?"

Harry played with his food and thought back over the last couple of days. Forty-eight hours ago, he was at Hogwarts. Everyone was still alive and Fleur's biggest worry was her sister's coming of age.

Now, Harry was an integral part of a new war, the result of an active prophecy and for all intents and purposes, a sacrificial lamb. Two other Champions and almost all of his friends at Hogwarts were dead and Fleur had become… what? A friend? Ron was his friend and he never climbed into Harry's bed when Harry was having a bad dream. Hermione was his friend and while she often fretted over him, she never touched him like Fleur did when she was caring for him.

What does that make Fleur? How did Harry feel about her? Was it the same way he liked Cho?

_It can't be_, he argued with himself. _I was completely gobsmacked around Cho this year. So if it's like Cho, why can I joke with Fleur without being tongue-tied, except when she– "_I don't get it," Harry finally confessed. "She teases me, then blushes. Why do that? Why would she help me dream about her? She knows the types of dreams I'm having and why does she always end up in bed with me?"

"Maybe because you're very good there and quite gorgeous to boot," said the young waitress, who looked like she was a year or two out of school. She smiled and set three more bottles of butterbeer on the table before taking the empty ones and sauntering back to the bar.

Harry could feel himself turning bright red. It seemed to be an hourly occurrence anymore.

"Impressive," Sirius joked. "Even with the longer hair you're sporting now."

"Haven't had time to get a haircut," Harry mumbled.

"I'm sure Fleur loves running her hands through it." Sirius saw the look on Harry's face and quickly added on, "I'm only making an observation. If you find her doing it, leave it. Now, as to Fleur being in bed with you, maybe Remus can explain it."

"It's probably because she likes you," Remus said. "How much I don't know, she may not even know, but she does like you."

"Good, I like her too."

"I don't mean 'like you' in the way Hermione or Ron did," he reminded Harry.

Harry stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth. "There's no way she could like me like that."

"Why not? Remus asked, but Harry didn't answer. He remembered that he had a fork in his hand and put it back down on the plate.

"I heard what your two schoolmates said to you last night," Sirius began. "You do know that they see the same thing we do, right?"

Harry snorted. "I have no idea what they were talking about."

Sirius chuckled. "That's because a Ravenclaw was explaining it." Before Harry could ask, he continued, "Madame Bones told us her House last night."

"Oh."

"Basically," Remus jumped in, "The young Ravenclaw was saying that Fleur's crying on your shoulder like she did shows that she might like you."

"Not to mention," Sirius added, "that Fleur was watching _her_ cry on your shoulder last night as well. Whether she admits it or not, it bothered her."

"But how could she – why would it bother her? I mean, she was going on all spring about how her sister likes me and before the last task, how Fleur's going to have to protect me."

Sirius was shaking his head. "I doubt even Dumbledore could begin to fathom the depths of a witch's mind. Maybe that was her way of flirting with you before she really knew if she liked you or not."

"So what am I supposed to do now?"

"Do you like her?" Sirius asked again.

"I don't know, I mean, at the beginning of the year I could really care less about her. She was stuck-up and arrogant, but she seemed to change over Spring term. We had a lot of fun talking about things."

"My guess, then," Sirius surmised, "is to do nothing specific. Just let things develop naturally and enjoy it. If she wants a relationship and you feel that you like her, then reciprocate; but there are two things you need to know. First, do not play with her heart. If you don't like her in that way, tell her so. It may hurt a bit in the beginning, but it's only fair. Second, you're only fourteen and you have a lifetime ahead of you so don't make any foolish commitments, but also remember that a witch like Fleur only comes around once in a lifetime."

"A lifetime, right," Harry scoffed. "How can I even think about a lifetime knowing about the prophecy? What about this?" He pointed to his scar. "I bet she doesn't even know about it, or what it means."

"She figured most of it out by herself this morning. Don't worry, we danced around the details." Sirius finished his stew and pushed the bowl away. "Let me ask you this, if you were back at Hogwarts and there was no prophecy and no strange magic in you, would you like to go on a date with her, maybe even give her a goodnight snog?"

Harry tried desperately to hide it, but a look that screamed "I already have" planted itself on his face.

"You didn't!" Sirius grinned. "When?"

"When what?"

"Harry, either you're going to start talking, or Fleur is going to hear every last embarrassing thing I know about you."

"At least that's not that much—"

Remus laughed in a way that made Harry want to feel for his wand. "Do I need to remind you that we were around when you were a baby? We've seen you do many things that you have no idea about. You were a _very _funny baby."

"Imagine Harry's embarrassment tonight," Sirius followed up, "when I remind Tonks in front of Fleur how thirteen month old Harry tried to suckle from the breast of a nine-year-old Tonks the one time she came with me to visit the Potters."

The two adults at the table laughed. Then Remus started in. "Sirius, do you remember the day Harry pulled off his diapers in public and—"

"All right, enough!" a red-faced Harry conceded. "This morning, we kissed after Remus left. It was just a peck on the lips."

"No it wasn't," Sirius corrected. "I can tell by the way you're looking at everything but at us."

"That's because I'm embarrassed."

"Liar."

"Either way, do you think I'm daft enough to tell you anything more?"

Remus broke out in laughter. "You're a smart wizard, Harry."

The check arrived and Sirius paid it before they went to the chocolate shop. Harry spent twenty minutes looking for something to bring back to Fleur as Sirius and Remus watched from the outside.

After finding what he wanted and paying for it, the owner covered it, shrunk it down, and put a number of charms on it. Harry slid the purchase into his robe along with instructions on how to remove the charms and stepped out of the store, when he heard someone yelling for his Godfather. He looked up to see Tonks and her partner running down the street, brandishing their wands.

"Tonks, what's wrong?" Sirius called out.

"The Ministry has fallen," the deep voice of Shacklebolt informed him. "There had to be over two-hundred Death Eaters that infiltrated the Ministry. The Auror's department was decimated and the Hitwizards were holding an office-wide meeting, they're all dead.

"Hogwarts all over again," Sirius muttered. "Madame Bones?"

"Don't know," Tonks answered. "She was with us making a report to the goblin liaison board, but she went back to her office – her niece and niece's friends were all there visiting. We never saw them again."

Harry's heart dropped through his stomach and a lump lodged itself in his throat.

"More importantly at this point," Shacklebolt interrupted, "it would be prudent to get Harry out of Diagon Alley."

They agreed and Remus, who was closest, reached over to grab Harry's arm, already hearing sounds of Apparation reverberating off facades, walls, and windows. As Remus turned on the spot, a strange squelching noise zipped up the street. Harry felt the beginnings of the squeeze of Apparition and then nothing else.

It was too late. Fifty or more Death Eaters, fresh from their part in the takeover of the Ministry, had Apparated into Diagon Alley.

Harry considered his first curse. The idea worked once, why not twice? He shouted _"Serpensortia!"_ four times. That man snakes spouted out of Harry's wand, each larger than the one he'd summoned two days earlier.

"_Sīh ȏth snā theth_!" He commanded, and they slithered towards the enemy.

Screams were now erupting up and down Diagon Alley. Death Eaters randomly cast spells, killing or injuring some and humiliating others.

The four adults with Harry had seen enough. They brought their wands level and curses streaked out across the Alley. Harry followed up with his own series of jinxes and curses. The Death Eaters returned the favor and Harry suddenly found himself in his third battle in as many days. He cast a shield charm for the older wizards (and witch).

A killing curse spat out from a Death Eaters wand at Remus. Shacklebolt twitched his own wand and a picnic table in front of Fortescue's ice cream parlor next door leaped into the air, intercepting the curse and a dangerously close distance. They were sprayed with splinters and chunks of wood.

"Tonks!" Shacklebolt boomed out. "Madame Bones already declared an open state of war. Kill them."

Nymphadora Tonks regripped her wand and let loose a series of Killing Curses that ripped through Death Eaters, windows, and walls on the other side of the alley. Shacklebolt's wand spat out green death in a less impressive, but more controlled and effective manner. It was forgotten in the intervening years of peace, but the when war is declared, the Killing curse is legal for those fighting against the enemy.

Harry dropped his shield charm. Ignoring the burning sensations of the newly embedded slivers and thinking about Neville, Susan and Cho, he raged and threw a cutting curse he had read about in one of the books. The closest Death Eater moved for a wand-block, but the curse cut through the wand and took him mid-waist. Harry quickly followed up, casting his own Killing Curse and hitting the already wounded Death Eater in the face.

Then, just like two nights ago, the Horcrux inside Harry stirred, feeding him even more anger, rage, and power. He cast curses with vehemence, the tip of his wand dancing in the sun. Everything slowed down and he was able to watch spells exit from his wand, tracking them across the open space to their target.

Diagon Alley was ablaze in cursed colors. More windows exploded and signs were blown off walls from errant curses and attempted kill shots. The Dark Mark had appeared over shops as Death Eaters exited, leaving nothing moving behind them.

Wizards, hags, and dark creatures emptied out of Knockturn Alley, some fighting against the Death Eaters, most fighting with them, and a few happily cursing anything that moved, regardless of loyalty. Diagon alley turned into a kill zone.

The last snake Harry had conjured found another victim, pumping its poison into the bloodstream through the fangs sunk into the Death Eater's leg. A squelching noise ripped though Diagon Alley once more.

"It's time," Shacklebolt called out.

Harry felt Remus grab his arm and saw Sirius do the same to the two Aurors. His body pressed in on itself and went through the normal uncomfortable feelings of Apparition. He opened his eyes and found himself standing in the tranquil field behind the Burrow.

"We have to go back!" he yelled. "We have to save them!"

"No," Shacklebolt ordered, wand still in hand and blood spotting his robes. "If we want to save the wizarding world, we must retreat, regroup, plan, and then attack on our terms, out of our strengths, and on a battlefield of our choosing. The side that chooses the battlefield has already won the battle."

"Harry," Sirius whispered in his ear fervently, "Don't get yourself killed so easily. They'd come after you, _he'd_ come after you. Are you ready to face Voldemort again?"

Harry didn't have a chance to respond as Mrs. Weasley raced out the back door and down through the yard. Fleur came out a few seconds later, running as fast as her legs would carry her.

"What 'appened?" Fleur yelled out, already reaching the fence and twenty yards behind Molly.

"The Ministry's fallen and Diagon Alley is a massacre," Shacklebolt answered.

Mrs. Weasley, who was close enough to be heard without shouting, was caught dead in her tracks. "Is it as bad as they say?"

"Probably worse," Sirius answered. "I saw dozens of Dark Marks going up all over the place."

Mrs. Weasley tensed. "Let's get back under the wards. The wireless says Dark Marks have started appearing above Hogsmeade as well."

Fleur ran right by her, tearing through the field until she reached Harry and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

She stepped back but didn't release him. "'Arry, you 'ave blood all over you!" she cried out, frantically looking for wounds on his head, face, and neck.

"It's nothing."

"DON'T TELL ME IT'S NOZZING!" Fleur yelled, continuing the frenzied search and falling back into a deeper accent. "You don't bleed for nozzing!"

"Fleur," Remus interrupted. "I'd feel better under the Protective Charms and much better in the Burrow."

Fleur nodded and took Harry's hand as they walked back. The wireless was on and a frightened voice was frantically explaining that the Ministry had fallen. As Molly had said, Dark Marks were seen floating over Hogsmeade and now Diagon Alley and Godric's Hollow, the largest of wizard/Muggle mixed villages.

Fleur led Harry to the sitting room and settled him on the couch, conjuring towels and cleaning him up, again.

"Haven't we done this before?" Harry smirked, a little proud of his nonchalant delivery in light of his own anger and the frenetic energy that encapsulated the burrow at the moment.

"Eetz not funny," Fleur protested meekly.

"Sorry, just trying to make you laugh." Harry thought he saw the corner of her lip pull up.

"'Ow do you do that?" Fleur asked.

"What?"

"You 'ave been in another battle, but you worry about me laughing instead. 'Ow come you always care so much?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly, and was unable to stop himself before the next words spilled out of his mouth. "I guess it's just easier to care with some people."

He distinctly saw both corners of her lips pull up this time and a cute pinkish hue appeared on her cheeks.

She changed the subject. "'Ow did you get all these splinters? It's going to take forever to get them out, get comfortable."

Forever ended up being about an hour to find, remove, and clean the remaining wounds from dozens of splinters in Harry's face, neck, and hands. She carefully cast the _Accio_ Spell on each splinter, stopping every couple of minutes to wipe off the blood that seeped from some of the deeper wounds left by them.

It took most of that hour as well for Harry to fully swallow the fury from being pulled out of the battle. Innocent people were dying and he could make their murders pay. Why run? Why not stay and kill every last one of them? How many of those Death Eaters had killed his friends, his housemates, his teachers? This was his chance to get back at them.

But what Sirius said in the clearing was also right. His was a bigger calling. Hopefully, he'd have the chance to visit the suffering on the one who started it all and he'd be damned well ready for it when that time came, regardless of what it took. After watching the massacre in the alley, there was no doubt about that. Shacklebolt was right. They were at war.

Fleur's ministrations gradually pulled his mind back to the Burrow – and the reality that he may have just lost four more classmates, and it seemed, three friends. That was until he heard Shacklebolt tell the adults in the kitchen that Madame Bones, Susan, and the others all made it out safely. Madame Bones's Patronus had just informed him when he was doing a sweep of the grounds with Tonks.

Harry relaxed as Fleur worked across his forehead. "Just one more and we're finished. I don't think they'll leave scars."

"Good, I'd hate to have one on my forehead."

Fleur snorted and her wand moved as she summoned the last splinter. It ripped straight through the skin and Harry winced.

"Serves you right! I might 'ave to start charging you for medical services pretty soon," she teased as she wiped his face clean and handed his glasses back to him.

He put them on and reached into his robes that were lying across the chair next to him. "Charge me? Would you accept something from the chocolate shop instead?"

"_Oui_," she said in a much softer voice.

He brought out the package and reversed the charms. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Fleur's slight grin and something different about her eyes. He chalked it up to anticipation and suddenly became nervous that he'd bought the wrong thing.

"I tried to think of what you would like. I remembered you talking about the food at Hogwarts so I figured you wouldn't want anything too heavy and since you've been away from home for so long I thought. . . ." Harry ran out of steam and lowered his head slightly in embarrassment. "It was probably a daft way to decide . . ."

"'Arry," Fleur said softly, putting her finger on his lips. "Whatever it is, it will be wonderful."

Harry breathed deeply and pulled out a Chocolate and Crème Torsade, topped with Pearl Sugar and dark chocolate drizzled across the top from the bag. He held his breath and the pasty out for her, noticing his hand shaking.

At least she'll think it's from the battle, Harry hoped.

She cupped her hands and he laid the Torsade in them, noticing for the first time how delicate her hands were.

Fleur studied the pastry for a second before taking a dainty bite. Her eyelids fluttered closed and a purr escaped the back of her throat. Some of the cream leaked out. She wiped it off with her finger and licked it clean, using the tip of her tongue.

Harry blushed.

Fleur bit her lip and giggled, having realized what she was doing. "It is very good. 'Ow did you know to get this one?"

Harry's blush went even deeper. He could lie to her, but something compelled him to tell the truth, even though he knew how bad it sounded. "Do you promise not to laugh?"

She was piqued with curiosity now.

"_Oui_. I promise," she answered, her eyes wide and a hint of sugar on her lips.

That sugar looked so good, Harry thought, envisioning himself leaning in to her, tilting his head slightly to the side before running the tip of his tongue across her sweet lips, only to kiss them and make sure he didn't miss anything.

Harry caught himself and focused on the present again, and a Fleur who was sitting expectantly for an answer, but she smiled even more and He had a feeling she knew what he was thinking.

"I'm waiting."

His eyes went wide.

She giggled. "For you to tell me how you knew which one to get."

"Oh, that. Yeah, well. It's sorta embarrassing."

"I promise I will not laugh, _Ça va—_Okay?"

Harry sighed and looked down at his hands. "I was trying to find something that kinda reminded me of you and I looked at a bunch of things but none of them were right. There were rich dark chocolate candies but they were too heavy and I knew you didn't like that; they had white chocolate and it kinda reminded me of your hair and being sweet but it was just candy and you're so much more; then I remembered you saying something about French pastries and your French and I found one that looked wonderful and alluring but had a bit hard, flaky surface like you to hide and protect all the good and warm and gooey and wonderful stuff on the inside. . . ."

Harry closed his eyes and grimaced.

"Please don't let that sound as bad as I think it did," he muttered.

When she didn't answer, he peered up to find Fleur just inches away, her eyes glistening, lips moist, and hands – devoid of pastries – reaching up to caress both cheeks. She pulled him in to her and Harry closed his eyes. He felt her breath on his lips, the warmth of her lips inviting him to lean in and taste her.

But instead of the kiss, all he noticed was a green light that flashed in the room.

* * *

><p>*Since one of my beta's missed the connection, I decided to make sure to remind you of Sirius's and Remus's discussion of Harry being like his father and Sirius making the reference to Star Wars in chapter three.<p> 


	8. Black Sunrise

.

**Chapter Eight**

**Black Sunrise**

Fleur's heart melted as she listened to Harry explain how he chose a simple pastry for her.

_He's so adorable._

". . . Hide and protect all the good and warm and gooey and wonderful stuff on the inside."

_Little thief is stealing my heart! _

"Please don't let that sound as bad as I think it did."

_Still so unsure of himself – where will I ever find someone else like this? Wizards twice his age don't see me like he does. _

_I should have kissed him first thing this morning like I wanted to. _

_I should kiss him now. _

_That's right 'Arry, keep your eyes closed— _

_Surprised to see me this close? Is this what you want? I heard that Cho girl, you're a beginner, That's okay. I'll help. _

_His skin feels so good against my hands— _

_His lips are trembling— _

_I can feel his breath—_

_WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?_

'_Arry be careful!_

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The fireplace flashed and Harry jumped to the side of the mantle, his wand already in hand as he pressed himself against the wall. Someone traveling to the Burrow unannounced exited the fire that had turned green with floo travel. Harry jumped him from behind, wrapping his foot around one of the visitor's legs and pulling, tripping the man and riding him to the floor before sticking his wand in the back of his neck.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded

Fleur's face fell. There's that horrible dead voice again. Where did my 'Arry go?

"Harry? It's me, Charlie Weasley."

"Charlie? CHARLIE? Oh bollocks I'm" – Harry remembered Remus's test yesterday morning– "What did you and Bill break last fall before dinner when I was here?"

"The picnic table," he replied.

Harry got up off him and gave him a hand. "Sorry about that, you okay?"

Charlie wiped off the remains of his Floo travel. "Don't apologize. Mum floo-ed me early this morning and told me what happened after the last task on Saturday, but she didn't know I was coming and neither did you; never apologize for safety and caution."

Harry gave him a confused look.

"Remember, I work with dragons, it's our motto." Charlie lightened up considerably and even flashed a smile. "By the way, I put my memories of the first task in a Pensieve and shared them with everyone at the dragon reserve. They were all amazed by your skill on a broom, though I have to admit you were their second favorite memory."

The second favorite memory? 'Arry on a broom is amazing, what could. . . uh oh.

"Yeah?" Harry asked. "Who was their favorite memory? Krum, or that beautiful French goddess who almost got her skirt burned off to everyone's delight?"

Oh, _Zut!_ 'ARRY! Fleur was beginning to blush.

"I'm on a dragon reserve, Harry. Who do you think? They didn't make 'em like that when I was in school."

"_Non_?" Fleur finally spoke up. "'Ow did they make us back then?"

Charlie spun around so fast his foot caught in the rug and he tripped, falling back to the floor in a glowing red ball of embarrassment.

"Harry, would you mind getting the salt from the cupboard?" Charlie mumbled. "I've found 'foot' always tastes better with a little salt."

Fleur laughed, finding the amusing comment disarming.

"Mum told me Harry was here with his, um, actually she just smiled at that part, but she never said anything about it being one of the other Champions," Charlie said. "I'm sorry for embarrassing you."

"I think you were the the one embarrassed, no?" Fleur answered in a good humor. "That's okay, it was entertaining and 'Arry needed a good laugh after today."

Embarrassed or not, Charlie became serious, pushing himself up off the floor (a second time) and sitting in the chair next to the wall that divided the sitting room from the kitchen. "What happened?"

Fleur cut off Harry as he was about to answer, not wanting to lose the lighthearted mood just yet. There would be enough seriousness in the evening. Of course, it was also time to pay Harry back for turning her into absolute goo a few moments ago.

_Well, if nothing else, this is going to be a playful relationship. _

"Your _maman_ caught 'Arry and me in bed together zhis morning."

Instead of blushing, Harry's jaw dropped. Charlie took one look at him and threw his head back, roaring with laughter. "Remind me to tell you a story about her catching me in bed with a witch whose first name began with 'Nymph'."

Fleur didn't understand the nasty smile that quickly spread across Harry's face, nor why it got twice as wide a few minutes later when Harry reappeared with Sirius in tow, after Molly finished fawning over her son.

"Nymphadora, you said?" Sirius asked as Charlie finished the story.

"Yep, what a name. Imagine your mum catching you in bed with her."

"It'd be a cause for concern, I'm sure," Sirius said off-handedly.

"You know," Charlie continued, "it's strange sitting here talking to you again, I was what, nine the last time you were at the Burrow?"

"Something like that," Sirius answered. "I wonder, do you remember Nymphadora's last name?"

"Yeah, Tonks. Why do you ask?"

"Did you know her mum's last name?"

"No. . ." Charlie answered.

Fleur picked up on Charlie's apprehension and Harry, sitting next to her, grinning mischievously. Fleur had to admit to herself, that grin looked oh so cute on him.

"It's Black," Sirius informed him.

Charlie paled. "Black?"

"Black," he repeated.

"As in. . . ."

"My Cousin, daughter of Andromeda Tonks Neé Black, my father's sister." Sirius deadpanned.

Charlie paled even more. "I never knew. How, how is she?"

Tonks popped out from behind. "Wotcher, Charlie! I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Charlie jumped out of his chair, but lost his footing and for the third time in less than fifteen minutes, fell to the ground. Tonks reached out for him, catching his hand, but his momentum was too much and he pulled her down on top of him.

"Charlie!" Molly bellowed. "Did I not tell you that I don't want to see that EVER in my house!"

Gales of laughter rang out as Charlie turned red again. Tonks gave him a peck on the lips and helped him up.

Ooh, my 'Arry is a devious one, isn't he?Fleur's laughter turned into a very content smile.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The appearance of Molly's only living son was a brutal reminder of what she had lost. The entire Burrow heard Molly wailing over the death of her family as she and Charlie mourned together in a back room until Charlie thought to cast an Imperturbable Charm, cutting off the sound.

The others spent time collecting and organizing memories for the Pensieve. Fleur and Harry both begged off revisiting the scenes of two nights ago, but Harry wasn't so lucky concerning the events of his Second Year.

Once the memories had been extracted, Fleur and Harry, along with Remus, Sirius, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Charlie, who had just reappeared from the back room, all entered the Pensieve.

**~ . ~ . ~**

Fleur looked around. "Where are we?"

"We're in a tunnel that starts in a bathroom on the second floor. We're pretty much at the other end of it now."

"Which bathroom?" Sirius asked from behind them.

"Moaning Myrtle's," he answered.

"Moaning Myrtle?" Tonks laughed. "What were you even doing in a girls—"

The memory of Harry hissed, opening the Chamber of Secrets.

"You're a Parseltongue?" Tonks asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I found that out this year as well, at least what it was called."

They followed the memory of Harry into the chamber. Fleur choked up when she saw little Ginny Weasley lying face down at the feet of a massive statue. Twelve-year-old Harry ran to her.

"Ginny – don't be dead – please don't be dead!"

Fleur reached for Harry's hand and held it, interlacing her fingers with his as he squeezed her hand and bit down on his lip.

It was easy to see how difficult it was for Harry to watch this memory.

Everyone listened carefully as the future Voldemort began to speak. Gasps were heard when they learned his real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle and he was a half-blood. Fleur heard Sirius explaining that Marvolo was a family name of the Gaunts.

Fleur's eyes filled with tears of joy when she heard the phoenix song in the chamber, but her heart filled with fear when she heard Riddle's speech concerning how Harry and he were just alike – not that she was worried Voldemort was right; Fleur could see the difference between the two of them even in the memory. Rather, it was as if Harry stood as a counterbalance to Riddle; one that was created the night Voldemort targeted the Potters. Yet a counterbalance, while being different, also must be equal. Just how much more 'equal' would Harry have to become in order to kill this Dark Lord?

Coupled with the Dumbledore's and Molly's worries, along with the things she'd seen herself concerning his dreams and scars, the question made Fleur go pale.

Harry caught her eye and smiled. "Hey, I promise, I win this in the end."

I hope you do, 'Arry,she answered silently, knowing that he wasn't answering her worries, but hoping all the same.

There was an uproar in the Pensieve when the basilisk made its appearance.

"That bloody thing has to be sixty feet long," Charlie cried, taking a couple unnecessary steps back.

They watched in horror as a young and wandless Harry closed his eyes and tried to run, tripping before Salazar Slytherin's pet monster struck where his head had just been. No one blamed the memory of Harry for putting on the Sorting Hat and pulling it down over his eyes.

A few seconds later, Sirius mumbled, "I'll be damned," as the twelve year old pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor.

Disbelief was evident in every adult face as they saw the younger Harry, now armed, turn to face the blinded pet. The disbelief turned to pride as he thrust the blade deep into the roof of the basilisk's mouth, blood flooding over Harry's upper body.

But Fleur shuddered when she saw the overgrown snake return the favor, driving a fang deep into the twelve year old boy's arm, flooding his body with poison. As the memory of Harry slid down the wall to lie dying on the floor, she turned away and buried her head in Harry's chest.

He put his arms around her and whispered with amusement, "It's okay, you don't even have to fix me up this time."

Fleur wanted to cry, hit him, and kiss him all at the same time. To joke about a thing like this! How does he—

The piercing scream of the diary made her jump. Harry caught her in mid-air, holding her tightly against his body. She wrapped her arms around him and whispered into his ear. "As zhe English say, 'Always zhe bloody 'ero,' aren't you?"

Harry smiled as he let her down. Fleur slipped a hand around him and he did the same. They walked out of the chamber arm and arm, following the memory of Harry. Fleur was struck by how tender the younger Harry was with Ginny, reassuring her as they walked through the gloomy tunnel.

The irony wasn't lost on Fleur as she followed the Ginny and the young hero – the same hero that later saved the French Witch's life. She was deep in thought as her feet hit the ground in the Burrow. It was no wonder Ginny's devotion to Harry had grown, no wonder a witch so young could write letters to him with so much passion and conviction, and no wonder how a witch her age could stand shoulder to shoulder with others against the onslaught of death.

And Fleur had to be willing to do the same, even if 'Arry didn't like it. She decided to tell them that night, after the meeting.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry's owl showed up a little later in the day.

"Hedwig!" Harry chirped in surprise as the owl landed and nipped at him. "I've missed you too, girl."

Harry fed his owl and looked it over for any signs of distress. Hedwig nipped affectionately at his fingers and ears, staying close to him. Harry introduced the owl to Fleur and she gave it a few extra treats while fawning over it until Hedwig included her in the affectionate nipping.

Since it was time to eat, Fleur took the owl outside to let it hunt for a more satisfying dinner. But the owl didn't fly off right away. Instead, it landed on the table and waited for Fleur, seemingly anticipating that she wanted to say something.

"You're a smart owl, aren't you?" Fleur cooed.

She would've sworn the single hoot was an answer and thought for a second before asking her next question.

"You know I'm part Veela, don't you?" she asked, beginning to understand why the owl had taken to her as well as it had.*

The owl hooted again, then stared towards the house, back to Fleur, back to the house, and back to Fleur again.

"_Oui_," she answered, figuring the owl wanted to know if she really cared for Harry. The soft hooting and pecking at her fingers confirmed it for her.

"Now listen," Fleur said after a few seconds. "'Arry and I might 'ave to escape to France if something 'appens. If we do, will you be able to find us?"

The owl turned to the East and gave a loud hoot. Fleur laughed.

"Sorry, I had to ask. Not very many owls are as smart as you. 'Arry is very lucky to 'ave you."

The owl gave another soft hoot and nipped her on the finger again.

"I like you too, 'Edwig. Now go off and 'unt." She thought about sending the owl to her parents with a note, but there was too much to say. She decided it would be better to Portkey home for an afternoon instead.

Maybe she could get Harry to go with her and they could stay a bit longer. . . even be uninterrupted long enough for her to kiss him like a Veela should. . . like a witch should.

Why not both? Fleur giggled, and realized she'd done that more in the last day than she had in the last five years combined.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Professor McGonagall came through the back door in the early evening. Seeing Harry, she buried him in a hug worthy of Mrs. Weasley then stepped back and wiped away a few tears, righted herself, and became the "Professor McGonagall" that Harry knew. After that, the Burrow quickly filled up and Harry found himself sitting on the floor in the corner of the sitting room with Neville, Susan, Cho, Su Li, and of course, Fleur, who was sitting on a small footstool behind him. Harry was leaning back against Fleur's legs as she rested her chin on his head, her arms were draped over the front of him and across his chest.

"It's good to know you take advice so well," Susan teased Harry.

"And work so fast," Cho added.

"Well, a little provocation 'elped," purred a content part Veela.

As if on command, Harry turned red once more, thinking at the same time that he had to stop blushing at every little tease she directed at him.

A voice Harry wasn't as familiar with chimed out, "It's about time he got a witch."

They all turned to Su Li, a petite, cute little Fourth Year that Harry hadn't said much more than 'hi' to in all his time at Hogwarts.

"What?" she asked. "Do you know what it's like having to listen to witches pine away for him?"

"Yes!" Susan and Cho answered rather quickly.

Neville broke out in laughter and leaned over to Harry. "Bet you wished you knew about this a couple years ago, eh? Should've settled for the average looking squib role like me."

Susan cleared her throat. "Not according to a couple witches in Hufflepuff, or the Ravenclaw witch your lips seem permanently attached to in the last couple days." She shot a playful look at Su Li.

"What?" she answered. "I'm was just impressed with the way he handles his wand."

A moment of silence followed her comment before she realized what she had said. "NO! Not like that. I meant the one he just learned how to really use a couple days ago!"

"When you stayed with him all night?" Cho asked.

"Yeah."

Guffaws rang out.

"NO! You perverts! When we spent the night– oh forget it!"

Harry, who'd been watching the whole thing, raised an eyebrow to Neville.

Though embarrassed, Neville shrugged and leaned over to Su Li.

"Um, thanks for defending my honor, but next time, maybe we should leave it undefended."

She swatted him on the shoulder and pushed him away, only to latch on and pull him right back, leaning her head against him.

Harry felt Fleur tightening her arms around him as well and he looked up to find her practically glowing. _At least one thing seems to have turned out okay in my world. _He looked back over at Neville. _Alright, two things. _Though out of the corner of his eye, he couldn't help but notice the flash of grief Cho was trying to hide. It was hard to watch, harder still since the grief was caused by Cedric saving his life.

Harry was rattled from his thoughts by Sirius calling the meeting to order and introducing Professor Moody (even though he didn't teach Harry, the title stuck with him in Harry's mind).

"We need to get some particulars out of the way," Professor Moody began. "First, a reminder; we have all made wizarding oaths to the Order. I remind you that what is said in this room will not be spoken outside this group. To do so will cause severe pain and death. That was part of the vow each of you voluntarily took. The only ones not under that vow are the six teenagers sitting in the corner and they have attacked or killed Death Eaters already. That means every one of them are targeted for death and not a risk, especially Potter. Even so, they will not sit through the entire meeting.

"Second, this is not the same war that was fought a decade and a half ago. That war was a slow, methodical advance against our society. This war follows the Muggle Nazi doctrine of _Blitzkreig_, or '_Lightning war_'. Voldemort; THAT'S RIGHT I SAID VOLDEMORT"—Moody thundered when half the gathering flinched at the name—"has been heavily recruiting for some time right under the nose of the Ministry. Last night, we received word that he has close to a thousand Death Eaters at his command."

Dismay ran through the Order. "How sure are we of the information and the source?" someone asked.

"Very. Those of you who were part of the first Order remember that Severus Snape spied for us towards the end of that war. After the slaughter at Hogwarts, he was able to slip back in with the Death Eaters and Apparate with them to their master. He got a firsthand account last night of their numbers and also told us that Voldemort—IT'S ONLY A DAMN NAME PEOPLE—was planning on moving fast. He found Minerva and informed her this morning, but none of us expected VOLDEMORT"—his magical eye spun in its socket, challenging someone to flinch at the name—"to move as fast as he has."

"How did he get so many followers?" a witch asked.

"I said he was heavily recruiting, didn't I?" Moody sniped. He didn't like repeating himself.

Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "Before the ministry fell this afternoon, we had received reports of prison breaks."

"Azkaban?" Charlie inquired.

"I said breaks, plural. Not just Azkaban, but Wizarding prisons of South Africa, India, the US, Australia, Russia, Zambia, and Yemen, and probably other we don't know about. Next you're going to be asking how we found out about all of them. . . we were notified."

"What? Why were you notified of a prison break in Zambia or China?" Sirius asked.

"Same reason Panama notified us when they almost caught you," Shacklebolt answered.

"Oh, Merlin's nutsack." Sirius turned whiter than any ghost at Hogwarts that Harry could remember.

"Don't tell me," Remus whispered.

"Yeah," Sirius said, then looked at everyone else. "I'm a subject of the British crown under the magical government, as is everyone else born here."

"So?" someone asked, but Harry could tell more and more people were beginning to understand.

Shacklebolt clarified the problem. "We get a report every time a magical subject of the Crown is arrested, released, or breaks out of prison in a foreign country. We crosschecked the names this morning and of the seven prisons outside the UK where we know a break happened, all seven had at least four British magical subjects that were imprisoned six to nine months ago. Anyone care to guess what mark _every one_ _of them_ had on their forearm?

"All of them?" A witch that looked like an older version of the Holyhead Harpies's captain asked.

"Every one of them. From what we can tell, they were all mid-level Death Eaters in the last war. Every prison reports the majority of those that escaped, had become loyal to them."

Charlie was incensed. "You're telling me that Death Eaters went recruiting in the largest and most dangerous Wizarding prisons in the world?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Shacklebolt answered. "And worse, they were highly successful. The last count puts the total breakout at close to three hundred people. Including those that escaped from Azkaban, that makes up almost half the total count Severus gave us, all with time in prison, and most of those for serious crimes against Muggles or Muggleborns."

"Damn," Sirius said for the now silent Order. "We're going to have to be very careful. Speaking of which, as much as I loathe Snivellus, you were wrong to reveal his work for the Order, Alastor. The Moody I knew in the last—"

It was Harry and Neville's disarming spells that hit Moody first, followed almost instantly by three more from the other teenagers who sat a year under a fake Professor Moody's teachings. Moody took the spells in the chest, flipping him over a chair and into a wall where he fell into a heap as his wand landed at Harry and Neville's feet.

Shacklebolt stepped between Moody and the teenagers.

"CEASE YOUR HEXING!" He commanded. "This is the real Moody. He shared the name and actions of Severus Snape with you because Severus was killed this morning."

More murmurs ran through the gathered group, but Professor Moody, who had pulled himself back up to lean against the wall, put his hand up and stopped it. "If you don't believe Shacklebolt, watch the memories in the Pensieve on the attack of Diagon Alley. Someone had a wand on Potter. Snape noticed and killed him, only to be cut down by other Death Eaters that saw what he had done.

"How do you know it was Severus?" Professor McGonagall asked.

Moody came around the chair and sat down. His magical eye whizzed around the room once before settling on Harry and Neville. "No one can cast the Killing Curse silently. I recognized his voice."

"We need to move on," Shacklebolt instructed the Order. "Enough talk of the battle this afternoon, or we'll never get through the meeting."

"I agree," Moody said as he stood up again to finish his speech.

"Third, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he bellowed as people jumped. Harry and the others chuckled. They figured the real Professor Moody would have done much the same as the fake. Harry could see Tonks laughing on the other side of the room as well.

"Before you leave here tonight," The retired Auror continued, "congratulate those two young wizards over there for beating me to the wand. As soon as something didn't look right, they disarmed me. This war is not about friends, people. It was a friend that made Potter an orphan and put Longbottom's parents in St. Mungo's, permanently mad!"

Harry had to fight with ever last fiber of his being to not curse the ex-Auror again. It was only the arms of Fleur and her whispering in his ear that stopped him. A quick glance at Neville showed Su Li doing much the same for him.

"You may think that is harsh on those two young wizards," Moody nodded to them, "but every person here must understand the reality of what happened. Always keep your wand at your ready. There is only one way to be alive at the end of the war.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A little while later, the six teenagers headed upstairs to Ginny's bedroom, but Cho and Susan kicked out Neville and Harry "to talk with their witches, alone," as they put it.

Said wizards were worried.

"What do you think. . . ?" Neville trailed off, casting a worried look at the door they'd just been ushered out of.

"I have no idea," Harry answered. "Sirius told me that he thinks even Dumbledore isn't smart enough to understand witches."

Neville grunted in agreement.

"So, you and Su Li?" Harry asked as they sat down on the landing, half a flight up from the bedroom. They could hear the witches giggling and laughing.

"Yeah, I guess so. A lot has changed in the last forty-eight hours. Can you imagine that I'm able to do magic without blowing anything up?"

Harry shot him a quirked smile. "Can you imagine people actually believe me about something?"

They eyed each other for a second before howling with laughter.

"I'm not sure what's funnier—that, or the fact that there are four witches in that room talking about the two of us," Neville said when he caught his breath.

Harry, who was still laughing, sobered quickly. "There's nothing funny about that. It's downright scary is what it is."

"I think you're right," Neville said after a moment of pondering. "I'm not sure what's worse, teenage witches or the Death Eaters."

A moment later they both quipped, "Teenage witches," and laughed again.

Finally, Neville had to ask, "You and Fleur? How did. . . ?"

"We're not, officially—though we are, kind of, if that makes any sense?"

"No, but once again we're talking about witches, so that's probably the best we're going to get."

Harry grinned, finding it oddly comforting talking with Neville.

Laughter broke out from the bedroom again. "It's good to hear them laughing," Neville said quietly. "Most of the last two days have been filled with mourning."

Harry thought about that for a second. "What about you?"

"Me? I guess I'm used to it in some way. It's different, but this isn't my first loss." He looked Harry dead in the eye. "You know what I mean. The whole damn house knows what I mean thanks to Moody."

"Yeah," Harry said, lost in his thoughts again. He couldn't get over the change in Neville. It wasn't that his entire personality had changed, but there was a fundamental difference in him that Harry couldn't put his finger on.

Neville seemed to come to the same conclusion about Harry. "You've changed, mate."

"I was thinking the same thing about you. What happened?"

"Those damn Death Eaters attacked, that's what happened."

Harry saw a wave of emotion overtake Neville and when he began speaking again, there was a deep sense of pain and an ocean of anger.

"When the Death Eaters came, one of them cast a dark cutting curse into the stands for no damn reason at all. I knew where it was headed and I knew what to do, but I couldn't get my magic to work. I tried, Merlin, I tried, but I couldn't cast the charm because I was too weak and that damn curse hit a cute little Second Year, tore right through her body. I held her in my arms Harry. I held her in my arms as she died because I was an effing squib that couldn't produce a simple, bloody Shield Charm . . ."

Harry sat silently as Neville fought through another rush of emotions.

He looked up, tears brimming. "I held her. I kept apologizing over and over for not being able to save her, not being good enough to protect her. I held her as she bled out in my arms. She was scared, confused . . . I'll never forget her eyes when she died, they just went blank. I still see them in my dreams."

"I'm sorry, Neville." Harry didn't know what else to say.

"Then I heard _her _voice," Neville spat out.

"Hervoice?" Harry repeated.

"Yeah, the same voice that I hear whenever Dementors are too close, just before I hear my parents. It's the only time I've ever heard them talk."

Harry leaned back against the wall, thinking hard. He and Neville were the same age. If Neville had never heard them talk, that meant . . . "When did it happen?" he finally asked.

"November first, 1981."

"The day after . . ." Harry was taken aback by how intertwined his and Neville's lives actually were.

"Bloody convenient coincidence isn't it?" Neville asked. "Makes you wonder just what happened the week our parents were destroyed."

Harry rolled his wand in his fingers, thinking about the screams he heard every time the guards of Azkaban got too close. He felt oddly comforted now, knowing that someone else knew his hell.

Neville leaned back. "Last year, when the Dementors came near, I could hear my parents being tortured. I heard Bellatrix Lestrange cackle with laughter while crying out "_Crucio._" That's why I just about went around the twist in class the day we were shown the Unforgivables.

"The night before last, While I was watching that little girl die, I heard her. I heard the bitch that destroy my parents and I wanted revenge. I wanted blood. Everything just exploded inside of me. All the magic that I had somehow dammed up, came out. I got so mad all I could think about was killing. I cast so many curses my wand began to glow. I even started casting curses through Shield Charms and killed a Death Eater with a Body-bind Jinx. That's not supposed to happen, Harry. There's no way that I should be able to do that."

Harry blew out a gust of air. "How?"

"I asked Madame Bones and Professor McGonagall the same thing. They think that I pushed so much anger and pain into my magic that it broke whatever was holding it back all these years. It all came rushing out that night and that's what made my spells so overly powerful. They think that the Body-bind jinx literally bound his heart, keeping it from beating."

Harry sat, wide-eyed.

"And you know something else? I'm ashamed to admit this to them"—he gestured to the witches in the room below them—"but there was a part of me that liked it. When my magic began to pour out, a part of me felt a vengeance and wanted to kill more of them. I didn't want to stop. I wanted to kill until every last one of them was dead."

"I know exactly what you mean," Harry whispered.

Neville wiped the remaining moisture away from his eyes. "Have you ever heard of the Muggle term, Bloodlust?"

"I've heard of it, but never really knew what it meant."

"I read a Muggle book a couple years ago that had the term in it and looked it up. It's an 'insatiable desire to shed blood.' Interesting that I remembered that after one read, but I can't remember anything else, isn't it? Anyway, that's what I think I had that night and it's beginning to scare me. Why would I have it? Why would I enjoy killing them so much?"

"I don't know."

"Have you ever had it?"

"I. . ." Harry stopped and decided that of anyone, anywhere in the world that could understand what he was going through, it'd be Neville. After what Harry had found out over the last couple of days, he was starting to see much of his story in Neville, and also beginning to see in him a kindred spirit—that spirit might very well be _Ankou_, the Breton mythological personification of death himself, but a kindred spirit nonetheless.

"Yeah, I have," Harry confessed. "When we left the graveyard and went back to Hogwarts, Death Eaters ambushed Fleur and Krum. I was on my broom—"

"That figures," Neville interrupted with a snort, "best place for you to be, probably pretty effective, too."

Harry gave him a small grin. "I made one pass and hit the Death Eaters with a couple curses, but before I could come around for a second one, I saw Krum being hit with the Killing Curse."

Neville nodded. "There were a lot of those that night."

"Yeah, well, then I did it. Twice, killing two Death Eaters. After that, I landed, cast the biggest _Serpensentia_ Charm you would have ever seen and told the snake to go kill more of them. Today, I threw a cutter spell I learned about the other day and literally sliced a wand in half as the Death Eater tried to block it."

Neville cocked an eyebrow. "And you were surprised by my Body-bind jinx?"

"Yeah, well, I summoned four more snakes and sent them off to kill the Death Eaters, didn't even care. I _wanted _them to die. I wanted to stay in the alley and cause them pain. I wanted to see the alley filled with black robes and blood. I got so mad when Remus grabbed my arm and Apparated that I wanted to stun him as well."

"We were at Madame Bones's office today when it happened," Neville said after Harry took a couple breaths to calm himself.

"Tonks told us when we were in Diagon Alley. I thought you were all dead."

"We thought the same about you, figuring they were going to hit Diagon Alley as soon as the Ministry fell. I think that's why those two Aurors went back after you."

"They arrived about five seconds before the Death Eaters. Remus asked about Madame Bones and Tonks told him all of you were with her and she didn't know if you had made it out. What happened?"

"We were in Susan's aunt's office. I came out and saw bodies of Hit Wizards and Aurors I had just been talking with, flipped right out my cauldron and went off to kill something—didn't even consider them human after that. I started cutting down anything that wore a black robe and mask. What's wrong with me? That's not how a fourteen year old is supposed to act, is it?"

Harry smirked. "Are you seriously asking me if it is normal for an underage wizard to take stupidly big risks by rushing off into situations he knows little-to-nothing about and start cursing things on a whim?"

"I guess you have a point there," Neville conceded. They both laughed, breaking the tension of the moment.

Harry suddenly felt the need to confess something, even though part of his rational mind questioned why he was beginning to act so out of character by being open and honest about such things. He didn't know whether it was because of what was happening with Fleur, or because he and Neville did have so much in common. Maybe it was just everything that had happened over the last few days, but Harry felt like he had to tell Neville.

"I don't know if I'm going to live through this, I don't know if I want to."

Neville was gazing down the stairwell. "I know. I've been thinking about the same thing. I'll tell you this, though, there is no way in _hell_ I am going to end up like my parents. I'm finished Harry. Lovable but buggered Neville is gone. I'll _Crucio _every black robed bastard between here and Diagon Alley before I end up like them."

"Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. But what happens if we end up like Voldemort instead?"

Neville slowly raised his eyes, set his jaw firmly, and pushed his shoulders back before facing Harry. "If I end up like Voldemort, then you'll kill me. If you end up like him, then I'll kill you. It's what friends do."

Harry thought about it for a second and nodded, realizing he had just promised to possibly kill the last remaining Gryffindor that he called a friend.

They sat in silence until the meeting below came to a close a few minutes later.

Descending the stairs, Harry knocked on the door of the room they had earlier been banished from. The four girls poured out, pink cheeked and giggly. Even Fleur, who always carried herself in a demure manner, had the look of a flibbertigibbet; it made Harry laugh and that was saying something considering the conversation he just had.

Downstairs, Madame Bones addressed the students. "As you know, Minister Fudge was killed in the attack at the Tri-wizard tournament, which made me the emergency Minister of Magic over the last legitimate government of Wizarding Britain. As such, I am instructing you to not take part in this war until you're of age, except in self-defense, and only if there is no other escape."

Harry and Neville looked at each other, took a deep breath each, and opened their mouths to argue.

"However," she said, holding her hand up to cut off their protests before they even started, "since it looks like I have two hard-headed, consequences-be-damned Gryffindors here, as well as a few witches that are too stubborn for their own good – yes, Susan, I am including you – you should note that my last act before the Ministry fell was cancelling the traces on all children over the age of twelve. The last thing I want is Death Eaters using the trace to find or track a family. But that does _not _mean that any of you have a license to put yourselves in danger, do you understand me boys?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ladies?"

"Yes, ma'am.

"Ms. Delacour. I am sorry to say I was not able to get into contact with your father through the French ministry. I am sure your family is very worried about you. Did you take care of that thing we talked about?"

"Yes, ma'am. I 'ave it with me at all times."

"Good. Remember my warning."

"I will, but since I am of age and 'ave seen what these _bâtards_ 'ave done, I would like to join the Order."

"NO!" Harry shouted.

Fleur put a hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes, but continued talking to Madame Bones. "This way, I can know what is 'appening and make plans for 'Arry and I to be safe until the time comes. I take it you 'ave all been told that it's been prophesied 'Arry will be a part of the war?"

Harry knew they had to tell the Order something concerning the prophecy and Fleur's way of putting it made sense, but he did _not _want her to be a part of the Order. It was _his _job to protect her. Not the other way around.

"Good, zhen I can be a go-between zhat keeps 'Arry one step away, but close enough to know what is 'appening. I will take the vow so there is no doubt about my loyalty."

"I said '_NO!_' damn it!" Harry yelled again.

"That is not for you to decide, 'Arry. We must all do our part. You 'ave yours, would you deny me mine?"

Harry glared at her, wanting to scream to the heavens that it was exactly what he wanted to deny her, but he knew it wouldn't work, so instead he settled for being brassed-off something terrible.

The younger witches were all smirking, though Harry had no idea why. Neville, he could see, was just as incensed, like Harry thought a true Gryffindor should be, but since it wasn't his fight, he kept out of it.

"Good to see you're keeping our Gryffindors chivalrous, Minerva," Charlie interjected from the side of the room.

"Yeah, but chivalry only gets you so far, or don't you remember?" Tonks cut in, to his embarrassment. Others laughed politely at Tonks's awkward attempt to break the tension.

Twenty minutes later everyone had gone home, though Tonks stayed to help clean up.

As soon as possible, Harry trounced upstairs and went to bed. The door opened a short time later.

"'Arry? Can we talk?"

Harry rolled over to face her, but didn't say a word. He couldn't. She looked so beautiful, standing in the moonlight that illuminated the room through the windows, but it was the vulnerability that shone in her face and her body language that made him want to get on his knees and beg forgiveness for yelling at her earlier.

He decided he couldn't do it.

"Are you mad at me, 'Arry?"

"No," he said too fast, cringing and waiting for the 'don't lie to me' mantra he knew to be coming.

It did, but a lot softer than he expected. "I know you're lying, 'Arry, you're not very good at it."

"Then why ask?" Harry regretted it as soon as the words escaped his lips. He heard Fleur suck in a sharp gasp of air just before he clarified. "I didn't mean it like that."

Fleur sat on the edge of his bed. "I would be lying if I said I was not upset with you," she began. "But I am thankful that you want to protect me. I know that is why you are mad that I 'ave joined the Order. The young witches were very informative about you."

Harry couldn't stop the hint of fear that surfaced.

Fleur laughed. "You are such a puzzle. You 'ave faced so much, but fear giggling teenage witches. So many things 'ave 'appened to you, but your 'eart is still so beautiful. Please don't ever change that. It is one of your most _charmantes qualités_."

"English?" Harry asked.

"Just like it sounds, it's one of your most charming qualities."

"Oh. Well, since we're on charming qualities," Harry began, his voice dripping with sweetness. "One of your most charming qualities is that you're breathing, don't every change that—oh, wait; you started to by joining the Order, didn't you? Never mind."

He missed Fleur's stunned look or the tears he caused when he rolled over and faced the wall, unable to cope with his own fears and emotions that were welling up inside. He had no words to describe what he was feeling, no ability to even process it. This wasn't about what happened at Hogwarts. It wasn't even about what happened at the grave yard. This was about what was happening in his own soul—in his own heart, and what _could _happen to someone else who happened to find her way into it.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry woke up to the sound of a loud ping, a second one brought him upright in bed.

_What is that? _

He reached over to the nightstand and put on his glasses, looking over to see Fleur sleeping peacefully in the other bed. He could feel her magic pushing images into his mind, though from this distance it was much weaker. It surprised Harry that it didn't feel like a violation of his person. Instead, it felt intimate, like she was opening a precious part of herself to him, and only him.

Harry closed his eyes and wondered again why she cared so much. Could Sirius have been right? He smiled as he thought about their almost kiss and holding her hand in the Pensieve, not to mention how they were sitting during the meeting with her arms draped over him.

Then she had to join the Order.

He walked over to the window on the other side of the room and looked out, trying to figure out what woke him up.

_PING!_

He saw movement just beyond the Burrow's outer Protective Charms.

"Damn it," he breathed. The next moment it sounded like a hailstorm on a tin roof.

Death Eaters had misjudged and Apparated into the Protective Charms, bouncing off them and landing in the back field.

They had finally come.

"Fleur! Wake up!"

She stirred and turned over in her bed. "'Arry? _Etes-vous d'avoir de mauvais rêves encore?_"

"English," he snapped.

She mistook the urgency in his voice for anger and sat up, confused. "Why are you waking me up in the middle of the night to yell at me?"

Harry ignored the question. With a wave of his wand and a vanishing charm, his nightclothes were gone.

"'Arry, what are you doing?"

"Keeping you breathing," he answered a little vindictively, driven by the fear of what might happen if she didn't get out beyond the Protective Charms and Apparate to France.

Another series of pings rang in the room.

"What was that?" she asked, looking up at the ceiling.

"Death Eaters. About forty of them now. They began Apparating in about a minute ago. Get up and get dressed, make sure you have your Portkey with you.

Fleur jumped out of bed. "I'm going to my room to change and get my things. Is your trunk ready?"

"For what?" Harry asked, confused.

"To Portkey with me to France!"

"I'm not going."

Fleur opened her mouth to argue, but it was drowned out by more Death Eaters Apparating in and bouncing off the Charms.

"'Ow long can the protections 'old?"

"I don't know, their oldest son was curse-breaker, so their charms are probably decent, but I don't want to push it. Go, get dressed."

Fleur grabbed her wand, ran out of the room and down the stairs, putting off the argument she was about to have with Harry until more adults were around.

Back in the room, Harry got dressed, slipped his bag of gold and his books into his robe (and sealed it) just in case they were forced from the Burrow, and ran out the door. He headed down the flight of stairs to the next floor, barging into Sirius's room.

"Wake up!"

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"Death Eaters! They're just outside the Protective Charms."

Sirius jumped out of bed already dressed and grabbed his wand. He and Harry ran down two more flights of stairs to Fleur's room and without thinking, crashed through the door.

"Harry, take Fleur on your broom to clear the wards, then land somewhere safe."

Sirius turned to Fleur. "As soon as he gets clear, both of you use that Portkey, got it?"

"_Oui_."

"Sirius, I'm not running." Harry argued. "I'm staying with you."

"No you're not! You're going with Fleur and figuring out your next steps in France, do you understand? That means _figure it out_, not doing something stupid like your father and I would have done. You are smarter and better than us Harry. Good luck."

He gave Harry a quick squeeze, then released him and turning to Fleur, enveloped her in a tight hug to whisper in her ear.

"Get my godson out of Britain and if I don't see you again, take care of him, please." Before she could say anything, Sirius ran out of the room and down the stairs.

Harry looked out of the window to see five dark figures running out of the house, one of them morphing into a very small, slender little girl with very little area to target. He started towards the door to follow them to the battle, but Fleur stepped in front of him.

"If you stay, then I stay."

"NO! You heard Madame Bones. They'll. . ." he couldn't even bring himself to say it.

"Then you are coming with me."

Harry fumed, but there wasn't anything else he could do except grit his teeth in anger for not being with his godfather. Quickly, he summoned his broom and motioned Fleur behind him. When it reached him, they both stepped over it and she put her arms around his waist, holding on tight. In the waning moments before they flew out of the window, she couldn't help but look over at the letters sitting on the nightstand and wonder how often Ginny had wanted to sit on a broom like this with Harry.

A moment later, they were in the air. Harry immediately dove for speed, then pulled out, lancing across the backyard while slowly climbing higher to give him better vision of what was happening. Fleur already had her wand out, spells slicing through the air. Harry had his wand in-hand as well, casting spells left and right. He heard yelling in the distance and turned the broom that way, diving for more speed and streaking across the ground as fast as he could push the broom. He didn't slow down when he hit the tree line where the smaller of the two battles was taking place. He yanked the broom left, then right, up over a branch and right gain, then left, only to come too close to a tree trunk. He yanked the broom to the right and held on tight as he felt a bump, then pulling up over a branch and dove below another. Fleur's head was buried in his back, not wanting to watch.

Harry veered the broom to the right and flew towards the battle, casting three curses and hoping the Body-binds would hold - maybe he would get lucky enough to kill one of them like Neville did.

Harry and Fleur broke out of the tree line and raced through the field, coming upon a staggered line holding off too many Death Eaters. But a bright green flash flared in front of him.

To his horror, Mrs. Weasley froze in mid-curse, then fell to the ground, unmoving as she joined her family in the ethereal existence.

Harry screamed in rage and raised his wand to collect the newly incurred blood debt, but before he could kill the Death Eater, Fleur leaned into him even more and whispered, "Take me 'ome, 'Arry. We'll regroup and come back a 'undred times stronger, just like your godfather wants. Take me 'ome so we can plan our revenge."

Somehow her voice broke through Harry's wrath. He wrenched up on his broom and shot out into the night.

Fleur continued to lean into him, crying over the death of Molly and heartbroken at the loss that her hero, her _amour_ had to endure in his life.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A minute later, they set down on the same hill that Harry and the others had used to travel by Portkey to the World Cup the previous summer.

Fleur took out the Portkey and gave it to him to hold on to. "Okay 'Arry, I will activate it and we will 'ave five seconds.

She touched it with her wand and they watched as it began to glow. She took hold of it as well, standing inches away from him and stared into his eyes.

At the count of three, she noticed they became distant, as if he had just resolved himself about something.

She was right. At the count of one, Harry let go of the Portkey.

"_QUE? NON!" _Fleur launched herself at him, wrapping her legs and an arm around his body. With the other hand, she pressed the Portkey tightly against his bare skin.

Fleur felt the yank just behind her belly button and held on tightly to Harry. Ten seconds later, they tumbled to the ground in France.

A very large, peaceful home spread out before them a few hundred feet away.

Harry got up and faced Fleur. She could see anger smoldering in the same eyes that were so distant just a few seconds ago, but before Harry could get a word out, she slapped him across the face.

"Never do that to me again! 'Ow dare you!"

Fleur turned on her heal and walked off into the sunrise just breaking over the horizon. At the top of the little knoll where the home sat, she turned back to see that Harry hadn't moved, except to stare into the west and the darkness of night.

She turned around and walked back down the knoll. "Come, it's been a hard morning already and the sun 'as just risen.

Harry remained silent.

Fleur came closer and softened her voice even more. "You scared me when you let go of the Portkey, 'Arry. Let's get to the 'ouse. We can relax and talk in there."

"Talk," Harry said. "Something I'll never hear her do again."

Fleur stopped dead in her tracks. She'd heard that voice once before, two days ago as Harry knelt beside his Headmaster and watched him die.

Silently, she took his hand and led him off to the top of the knoll and into the Delacour home, where she guided Harry to a room before waking up her parents. He was in no shape to meet them now, nor had he said anything else since landing in France.

Fleur came out of Harry's room and walked down the hall to the other end of the house, where she opened her parents' bedroom door.

"Gabrielle, are you okay?" her mother asked.

"No, _Maman, _it's me, Fleur."

Apolline Delacour threw her covers back and hurtled off the end of the bed.

"FLEUR! OH MY BABY FLEUR. YOU'RE ALIVE!"

"What?" Jacque Delacour asked sleepily.

"Your daughter is home!" she yelled.

He jumped out of bed and crushed both mother and daughter in a hug. Fleur, hugging them back, broke down in tears.

Her parents held her and let her cry, gently lowering her to the floor when she couldn't hold up her own body weight anymore. Jacque finally had to get his wand and cast a privacy charm so Fleur's wailing wouldn't wake up her sister, who was still going through her transformation.

He flashed a look over Fleur at his wife after a few minutes and they communicated silently.

"_Ma Petite_, are you hurt?" her mother asked.

Fleur held on tighter and cried harder, almost sending her parents into a frenzy.

"Do you need a Healer?" Papa asked this time.

She shook her head no.

After more crying than both parents combined had seen from her in the last five years, Fleur was able to calm down a little, though tears still leaked from the corners of her eyes.

"How did you get back to France?" Her father asked, figuring it would be a safe question.

"Portkey," she answered, then remembered who she came with and had blink a few times to be able to see again.

"Did you make it?" he continued "Not that I'm upset. It's just that if you did, I'll make the arrangements to pay the fine."

"I did, but don't worry Papa, it was legal."

He looked over her head at her mother again, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to acknowledge what he knew now to be true. Jacque Delacour knew the only way an international Portkey made by a non-government agency could be legal.

"Fleur, what are you telling me?"

"They're at war again, Papa." Fleur buried her face in her hands. "We were attacked in the middle of the night and had to leave. I had to force him to leave the only family he ever knew, force him to abandon them only to see his adopted _maman_ killed before his eyes as we flew past on his broom."

"_Him, killed?_" both parents mouthed to the other.

"Oh my god _Maman_ what am I going to do? He's going to hate me. I forced him to come to France. I didn't let him go back . . . and then, and then I slapped him! OH GOD what was I thinking!"

Fleur broke out in sobs again, safe at home. Then she remembered that 'home' was something Harry never really had and now, after Molly's death, whatever little amount of it he did have at the Burrow, he would never be able to have again.

So much loss for someone so young.

She sobbed even harder.

Her parents continued to hold her, but finally her mother had to ask, "Who is he? Who are you talking about and where is he now?"

"In the guest bedroom at the other end of the hall." Fleur choked out.

"That's the end of the hall you're sister is in." her father reminded her. "Are you sure—"

Fleur gained a little more control of herself. "She won't mind, trust me Papa."

The parents looked at each other once more over Fleur's shoulders, confusion and frustration evident. Her father kneeled before her and gently pulled her hands from her face. It was a puffy, red mess by this point.

"Fleur," – he tried to keep his voice light and a little playful so what he asked didn't sound accusatory – "could you tell your mother and me _who_ it is that your sister doesn't mind having in the bedroom just down the hall from her?"

"Her hero, 'Arry Potter."

"Oh, dear god in heaven."

**END OF PART I**


	9. The First Day in France

**A/N:**  
><em>Mon Fifille<em> = My Little One  
><em>Mon Cochen<em> = My Pig  
><em>Vulgaire = <em>Wizarding french version of "Muggle"

Also, ** Is a quote directly from JKR, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

**PART II**

**THE FORMING**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

**The First Day in France**

Harry woke up a little before noon and looked around at the strange, tranquil room, seeking familiarity in the haze between slumber and lucidity. He blinked two or three times before reaching over to the nightstand for his glasses. Sitting up, fractured memories of the rush from the Burrow returned with a fury, led by the worst of them all: the form of Molly Weasley, fighting like a mother dragon protecting her eggs until she was lit up by the Killing Curse; the lifeless body of the closest person he ever had to a mother crumpling to the ground.

Harry remembered feeling as if a chasm had opened where his heart should have been, as he swore vengeance for another dead body that once was someone he cared for. Would it be the last, or would he have to do the same over the bodies of Sirius, Remus, and/or Charlie?

Why did Voldemort continue to do this to him? Why did those bints called The Three Fates always lay a path of safety for him while paving it with the blood and flesh of his friends and loved ones?

Or, as Harry put it, Why can't the bastard leave my friends alone and come after me?

He threw the covers back, slid out of bed, and walked into the attached bathroom, still ruminating on the night before. Fifteen minutes later, he was showered and dressed in clothes that someone had laid out for him sometime earlier that morning. To his surprise, the trousers were almost his size. The undershirt fit as well, but the shirt was much too big. He rolled the sleeves to the middle of his forearm and walked over to a mirror to see if they were even. Instead, Harry shook his head, finding humor in what he saw in his reflection.

Either his aunt had vastly overstated French fashion (and more than a few witches in Gryffindor as well), or the shirt was a jersey from a French Muggle sports team that Fleur had laid out for him as joke—he guessed the latter. The jersey was blue with white shoulders. "France" was written in big red letters outlined in white from the right hip up across the sternum.

He look away from the mirror when something in the reflection caught his eye. In the corner of the room, next to the sliding glass doors that faced the back of the Delacour property, sat his broom. The shaft was littered with scorch marks, both in front and behind where he usually sat. The bristles were damaged and the stirrups were discolored.

How in the. . . ? It must have happened when he flew over the fighting in the woods. It was the only time he was close enough. Harry missed the fact that he used the singular pronoun. He closed his eyes and thought back to the previous night, how he had flown out of the window and shot across the yard to the tree line.

Now, looking at the broom, he saw the left stirrup was more than discolored. It was bent, flattened, and scraped up something terrible. He turned and went to the broom to inspect it more closely.

The tree! I did hit the tree. At least I was flying free-style and not using the stirrups. Had I been sitting just a few inches further back . . .

Wait . . .

That's where . . .

FLEUR!

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur woke up just after noon and looked across the room to see if Harry was still there, only to find neither Harry nor his bed; but her confusion dissipated quickly as she looked around, noticing the familiar light brown walls and high ceiling of her bedroom.

It was all so familiar, yet somehow foreign at the same time; as if Fleur was looking at a memory of a past life. She was struck by how she used to take it all for granted. Now, it felt like a gift. Her bed was large enough to fit herself and two of her friends comfortably, plus Gabrielle when she was smaller. The mattress sat on a frame of dark cinnamon-stained oak, the head and footboard rounding off in five large elaborately carved swirls that peaked in the middle. In the corner to her right, an oval mirror stood, rising above the top of a six-foot tall wardrobe it was part of. Lying on her right side, Fleur could see through the Floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that opened to her small, private deck, which provided a view of the ocean in the distance, at the bottom of the valley that fell away from the house.

It was all so beautiful, so comforting, sitting in counterbalance to the recent fires of hell, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that those fires were still burning, not just on the other side of the _La Manche_, but in her, drawing her back into the maw of death they had just escaped. Was that why everything looked so clean, so soft, so exquisite on this side? Was everything really about balance and counterbalance? Was this really the counterbalance to that world? Was Harry really Voldemort's counterbalance? What then, was she? What did she counterbalance? Was she a splendor to behold—or a part of hell? If she counterbalanced Harry in a relationship, what did that say about her? About him?

Fleur sighed and got out of bed, willing away thoughts too deep to ponder after just waking up.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Still staring at his broom, the weight of Harry's actions struck him. The mammoth bedroom felt as though it was closing in on him as he came grips with his reckless actions and the witch he had risked. The blame was all his. _He_ was the one that headed into the forest. _He _was the one that flew over the battle. _He _was the one that almost hurt Fleur by crashing into a tree. He was the one that put Fleur in danger of being hexed. No one else.

Harry slid the glass door open and escaped from the room, walking out on the patio and down a path into the back gardens.

How could he have been so daft—a bloody brilliant thing to do to Fleur, wasn't it? Some git he turned out to be. What a smashing good way to protect her, fly right into the battle! What was he thinking? Was he thinking? Probably not. It's just like before. Find two people who are finally willing to be friends and what does he do?

Harry came up on a stone bench and sat down, overwhelmed.

Put them in danger. That's exactly what he did—Just like last time. It's the same thing he did to Ron and Hermione. He told Hermione to drink the potion when they were going after the Philosopher's Stone. What if she had been wrong?

He remembered watching her shudder as she finished drinking from the bottle. For a split second he was sure that she'd made a mistake. She would have died. That's what would have happened, and he told her to go first, letting her take the risk before he tried the other potion. Then there's the Third Year. She always looked out for him and what did he do? He got mad at her for telling Professor McGonagall about the broom Sirius bought.

Harry put his head in his hands. What kind of friend had he been?

What about Ron? Sure, he hurt Hermione's feelings that night the troll was set loose, but did Harry say anything to him? Not a damn thing. Did he go help Hermione? Not one bit, not until they were both heading for the tower. Then what did Harry do? He told Ron to be the bait while Harry played it safe and ran to Hermione. Ron got the troll to turn its away from her, trapping him instead. Smart move Harry, trade one friend for another.

The only reason he had to jump on the troll was because he sent Ron to a place he couldn't get out of. Guess it didn't matter to Ron though, break a bunch of rules and get a Dragon to safety? Ron's by his side. Quidditch? Ron's right there supporting him.

Harry put his hands over his eyes and cringed as he replayed Ron sacrificing himself in the real-life chess match.

And he stuck by Harry, even when his sister was almost killed because they were associated with him.

He continued on, thinking about how so many accused him of being the Heir of Slytherin, but Ron stood steadfastly by his side . . . .

_**"You do believe me, don't you?"_

"'_Course I do," Ron said quickly. "But—you must admit it's weird . . ." _

"_I know it's weird," said Harry. _

A grim smile crossed Harry's face as he remembered Ron fighting his fear of spiders that year. Sure, he hated them, but he was still there next to Harry, trying to overcome his terror.

Yet, the very next year what does he do? With a broken leg, Ron stands up and informs a wanted mass-murderer that he was going to have to kill him and Hermione to get to me. He even jumped on Sirius knowing that he couldn't protect himself with his leg like that.

Harry's head was still in his hands. And then, he acted like such a child this year, refusing to see his side, refusing to even talk with him after that night, or even admitting that he may have overreacted, and then he waited until Ron came to him.

The only time Ron didn't believe him. If Harry had talked to him about his scar hurting, at least it would have given him more reason to accept that someone else put Harry's name in the goblet. Then again, the day before the drawing, Harry had even told him how he would have done it, or at least, when. It's no wonder he didn't believe Harry.

Harry leaned back and gazed through the valley into the distant Mediterranean Sea. After all of that, Ron was upset, but didn't yell. Not until Harry started in on him first, not until he basically called him stupid, until he pushed him away, willing to toss a friendship into the rubbish bin like it meant nothing—because he didn't believe Harry one time.

But it hurt so much when he didn't. Most of the professors didn't even believe him, and few if any of the other Houses did either.

So did that make it okay to act like that to Ron?

Of course not—and yet after all that, Ron still took up his wand against the Death Eaters. His whole family did. Every last Weasley there stood up for Harry and the others. Why did Voldemort even care about Hogwarts?

Harry. Had Harry not been around . . .

And then on top of all that, he almost got Fleur killed last night. What was he thinking? He must have bloody well gone mad. Everyone he loved or cared about was dying around him and what did he do? He took Fleur right into the middle of it all—and then watched Mrs. Weasley die.

So how many others are going to die because of me? Harry asked himself.

He knew how to stop the trail of death lying behind him; he could accept the destiny laid before him—and walk that path alone. There would be no safety, no peace, and no love untainted for him, until Voldemort was dead.

No safety, no peace, and no love untainted, he repeated to himself, realizing what it meant for him and Fleur.

Of course, every love he knew was tainted, usually with death.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

After showering and dressing, Fleur walked into the informal dining room where her mother and father were having lunch. "Papa, why aren't you working today?"

"_Mon Fifille_ came home this morning. Why should I be at work?"

Fleur kissed him on the cheek before getting a cup from the cabinet. "You know _Mon Fifille _is outdated, even in the Wizarding world, don't you Papa?"

"Would you rather I called you _Mon Cochon_?"

"Not really." She chuckled. "I have no idea how '_Mon Cochon_' became a pet name. What is it with us French using names of farm animals as terms of endearment?"

"I have no idea," Fleur's mother answered, walking into the room and pouring a cup of coffee for herself.

Fleur looked around the table, but didn't find what she was looking for and put the cup back in the cabinet. She called a house-elf and whispered instructions to it. The house-elf disappeared and Fleur sat down to wait. "How's Gabrielle?"

Her mother grimaced. "Same as you were, I think."

"I remember it not being fun." Fleur reminisced for a moment before coming back to the present. "What caused it to start early? According to Gabrielle, the last sign started a few days before you came to Hogwarts. I thought it took two months after that before the transformation begins."

Apolline Delacour smirked. "It usually does, but don't you remember how it varies? I'm sure your father does."

Fleur caught her father's eye and they both turned away somewhat embarrassed over the particulars of that night. Her transformation was particularly complete and. . . explosive. It was something a daughter never wants her father to see, accident or not.

"Sometimes," Fleur's mother began as she laughed at the two of them cringing, "when a Veela is infatuated with a young man, it can push our magic to speed up the transformation, like it did with you, or start it early—"

"Like it did with Gabrielle," Fleur finished the sentence, looking out the window at Harry sitting on the bench in the flower garden. She wanted to excuse herself and go to him after what happened last night and this morning, but somehow she knew he needed time to sort everything out in private, just like in the cave that first night. Harry would start talking when he was ready.

The house-elf returned with a cup of tea for Fleur. She thanked the elf before turning back to her mother.

"So you're saying 'Arry pushed her over the edge?" Fleur grinned into her tea.

"Something like that," her mother answered. "Having her prince-charming rescue her, then seeing him again a few months later lit the cauldron fire a little early."

"That's interesting," Fleur answered, not trusting herself to say anything else. She knew her mother was a little too perceptive at times. Worse, she wouldn't leave a subject alone if it meant she could tease her daughter.

"You know, it is amazing how similar you and Gabrielle are, both transforming like you did over a boy."

"Please Maman_,_ don't remind me. Tavian was a spell-wreck."

"That may be, _Mon Fifille,_ but you were very taken with him."

A corner of Fleur's lip pulled up. "I'm seventeen and both you and Papa still call me your little girl."

"As your Papa said, we could call you _Mon Cochon_."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Anyway, unlike Gabrielle, I wasn't saved by the wizard that caused me to transform quickly, nor was I taken with Tavian. I was taken with his appearance; a mistake I have made all too often it seems, even more so about myself."

Her mother stopped in the middle of raising her cup for a sip, muttering Fleur's last words back to herself.

Fleur thought she was overdoing it a bit. "It's okay Maman, don't worry about it." She gestured out of the window to change the subject. "How's 'Arry doing?"

"I don't know," she answered. "We haven't seen him except through the window."

"Did he sleep?"

"Some. I remembered what you told me about his bad dreams. When I sneaked into his room this morning to put clothes on his bed, I took the opportunity to make sure his dreams were taken care of."

Fleur choked on her tea. "Maman! You didn't give him _those_ types of dreams, did you?"

Her father choked on his coffee as well and his wife laughed at the both of them. "Of course not! I have better control over those abilities than you do. Whoever he dreamed about, was someone his own imagination would have supplied and it would have been a comforting dream, not necessarily a sexual dream."

She gave Fleur a hard look. "So, Daughter, what kind of dreams _were you _giving him?"

Fleur blushed, but realized she had nothing to be ashamed of and looked straight into her mother's eyes. "Any kind I needed to in order to keep him comfortable, instead of screaming out in pain in the middle of the night."

Her father set his cup down and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not happy to hear about you giving someone those kind of dreams about you." He huffed. "I'd tell you not to do it again, but you're too old, too stubborn, and too argumentative to listen to me anyway."

"Am not," Fleur slipped in with a smirk.

He shook his head, but she could see a tug on his lips before he turned serious again. "I guess I should be more worried about why a fourteen year old boy has—"

"Don't. Call. Him. A. Boy." Fleur growled out.

Both parents looked at her in surprise.

"He may only be fourteen years old, Papa, but he's more of a wizard than half the new graduates you'll employ this summer and more of a man than all of them combined."

Her father pinned Fleur with a stare. "That's a bold statement."

"And I have a good reason to make it," Fleur declared. "I've seen wizards twice his age act half as mature and that was in a normal situation, let alone when the dragon shits in the boiling cauldron."

"Fleur!" her mother gasped. "Where did you pick that up? It's crass."

"Crass or not, Maman, it's the truth—I've seen it with my own eyes."

The kitchen went quiet for a minute before her father asked, "What exactly did you see?"

"I . . . I'm not ready to talk about it, Papa. At least let me spend a few hours home first, please?" Fleur ignored the looks she was getting from both of her parents and gestured out the window again. "Has he eaten today?"

"No," her father answered. "Speaking of which, when did you last eat?"

"Last night, at the Burrow—the house of a friend that 'Arry knows . . . knew." Fleur exhaled at the thought of her almost forty-eight hours at the Burrow. The worn carpets and furniture, trinkets and photos overflowing drawers and desks, a mother that gave of her family and then herself.

Fleur's thoughts expanded to the fourteen and fifteen year old witches and wizard she now knew, still in the middle of a war, a few of them with their own families ripped away already. How many more to come this time?

Her mother reached across the table. "My dear, you look terrible. You know you can tell us anything, right?"

"I know, but like I said, I'm not ready to talk about it yet. I'm going to go check on my sister and Harry."

Fleur finished her tea and set the cup on the table, missing her parents' amusement at the British habit she picked up, but also missing their concerned looks.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

No safety, no peace, and no love untainted, he repeated to himself, realizing what it meant for him and Fleur.

Love? Why am I thinking of Fleur?

A second memory Flooded Harry's mind, Fleur in tears as she slapped him. There was only one other person who had ever slapped Harry across the face and Harry damned well knew his Uncle didn't love him, nor he his Uncle. So what does that say about Fleur? How could she resort to the same thing Uncle Vernon did? How else was she like him?

She kept him away from Sirius last night. She stopped him from running after him. And what about Mrs. Weasley? What if I was out there? She kept me away from my real family, just like Uncle Vernon did every summer, not letting me talk to them on the phone or even get owls.

Harry shook his head. That wasn't fair. Fleur was doing what Sirius wanted her to do, she didn't complain when Harry flew into the battle. She even cast spells to keep him safe. No, it was Harry that had almost gotten her killed.

There was no way Fleur was the same as his uncle. She cared about him. She made him feel. . . what? Better? What was that about?

What was she doing? She giggled and blushed and made me laugh. But why? Did she really care, really mean any of those things? How can she care about me if she slaps me—if she does the same thing Uncle Vernon did? Sure as Agrippa's left nut my Uncle didn't love me or care for me. Aunt Petunia never tended to me, regardless of what happened. . . .

So how can Fleur slap me like Uncle did, but also tend to me? Was it just that we spent so much time with each other? Was that it? Maybe she still thought I was just a little boy who had to be taken care of?

Harry was so completely confused by this point that he would have almost preferred climbing back into the cupboard under the stairs for a few days.

He snorted. I wouldn't even fit anymore.

Harry sighed and walked back to his room thinking about how the discontinuity in his life now was even greater than that summer he'd learned he was a wizard.

Sometimes, a thought echoes in the mind until it dominates every other thought, pushing them away.

Other times, it's just a word.

Life.

What cruel word. What good was life now? He was sick and tired of people dying for him. How many were there? Voldemort had killed his parents; Voldemort through Quirrell caused Ron to be injured; Lucius Malfoy cost Ginny and Hermione months out of their lives; Peter Pettigrew cost Sirius years—and betrayed Harry's parents; those Death Eaters tortured Neville's parents; Death Eaters killed Susan's parents—

Harry stumbled on the path at the realization that it could all be traced back to one person, someone whom nobody had been able to stop.

Except him.

The prophecy was right! He had beaten Voldemort three times already.

Like the dawn of the desert morning, the truth cast its harsh light on him, only this sunrise was as black as coal and a harbinger of the coming destruction Harry could not yet see.

But he could see the truth. It was time to not only defeat Voldemort, but to kill him, to make sure he's dead. And since I must die in order to kill him, why not take as many Death Eaters with me as possible, payback for what they've taken from everyone else, and while I'm at it, why not use their own beloved Dark Arts to shove it all right up their collective arse?

Why the bloody hell shouldn't I? I am going to die anyway. What's left for me now?

Love?

Who do I love that's still alive?

Fleur?

I care about Fleur—even if she doesn't me.

But do I love her? I think I would've if she felt the same way—and I didn't have a Dark Lord hanging over my head. Nothing I can do about Fleur now, except try to make sure she's safe.

Sirius? Remus?

If they're not dead already, they will be if I don't kill Voldemort and as many of his Death Eaters as possible. After what happened at the graveyard, that'd make Fleur safer as well.

Neville?

I'd be doing him a favor. I take on the strength to avenge his parents, my parents, kill as many of the bastards as possible, then give up my own life to make sure Voldemort dies. Neville gets to live on, without damaging his own soul by killing me.

Susan? Cho? Others?

How long will it be before they're murdered, or raped in their homes by a Death Eater, or strung out across another body-ridden killing field?

A killing field; Auror Tonks was right calling it that. Why can't killing fields be filled with bodies of Death Eaters instead?

If I'm going to die either way, why can't I make my own killing field?

Harry made it back up the hill and into his room. Sitting at the desk facing the wall opposite of the sliding doors, he pulled out the books that were safely stored in his cloak and began reading. He knew that in some ways, he was acting out of love for everyone he had just thought about, much in the same way his mother did when she sacrificed herself for him.

It's just that this time, this sacrifice would cause death as well as protect others from it.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"She didn't tell us a thing." Jacque said after Fleur walked out of the room.

"We have to be patient." Apolline moved over to the chair next to her husband and laid her hand on top of his. "I'm sure it isn't as bad as we're making it out to be."

He shook his head. "No, My Love, it's much worse than we thought. There is speculation in my department that as many as thirty died at Hogwarts, maybe even some of the Seventh Year students. Keep in mind, we haven't heard from Madam Maxime, either."

Jacque set his cup on the table. "When called the office this morning to tell Philippe I wasn't coming in, you should have seen his relief. He was too damn happy to have Fleur on this side of _la Manche_. I asked him why, but all he would say was, 'It's bad.' He refused to say anything more through an open Floo connection."

"That doesn't mean it's as bad as you're making it out to be. Jacque, relax and be happy you have your daughter home safe."

"That I will most definitely do, but. . . ."

"What's really bothering you?" Apolline asked, leaning into the table to be a little closer to him.

He wrestled with his answer, not sure he even wanted to broach the subject, but knew he wouldn't get away with not telling her. "I'm wondering how long it will be before I must raise my wand to kill again."

The weight of what he was seeing in his family's future was making it hard for him to even breathe. "What about Fleur's friend in our other bedroom?" he finally choked out.

"What about him?" She asked, her voice firm.

Jacque knew that voice. The Veela matriarchal drive to protect family and young was strong, regardless of whether the _Zekānōt_ chose to put them through the _Gegenumenou_ and awaken the full Veela within.* "He is welcomed here in the short-term, but I worry."

"About?"

He hesitated for a second, deciding he didn't want to argue with his wife and answered with another, though much less, concern. "About what will happen when Gabrielle sees him before her magic is under control. I think Monsieur Potter should occupy the downstairs apartment instead of our guest bedroom next to an emerging and as yet, uncontrolled Veela."

"I don't think it'll be a problem," his wife answered, "but it's still a good idea. He will want privacy."

Jacque nodded, thinking he had done well to sidestep the bigger concern, at least for now.

He hadn't. "Don't congratulate yourself on changing your answer, Jacque. I know that's not what has you worried."

He grunted. "You know me too well, Apolline."

She leaned back in her chair, taking her hand off his and raising her eyebrow at him in an unspoken request to come clean.

He finally came out with it. "The Death Eaters are back."

"Death Eaters?" she repeated in surprise. "Please tell me you're lying."

"I wish so. Like I said, before I came home yesterday some reports came in concerning Britain over the previous eighteen hours. If I take that and add it to Philippe's reactions this morning, I can only come to one conclusion. Something major with Death Eaters is happening in Britain and that young man in our bedroom may be a prime target."

Jacque clenched his teeth together, his eyes fixated on a point on the wall and his voice hard. "I did not help rid France of Death Eaters thirteen years ago only to put a target on my family's back now, but that's exactly what I'm doing by giving shelter to Harry Potter." He pushed back from the table and walked out of the kitchen without another word.

Apolline clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. She'd only seen this side of her husband while the previous war raged in Wizarding Britain. It was a poorly kept secret that the problems and bigotries so rampant across _la __Manche _had also taken root in France—as did the war.

In those days, Jacque was a young Apparition teacher in the French magical government, but as the battles intensified, every wand was called upon. Apolline remembered waiting for him to come home, fear palpable night after night as the hands of the clock wound their way to the morning hours, only to see her husband Apparate home dangerously wounded time after time.

Then there was that last night. She could see the lights flaring from curses in the valley below. It was the first time she truly saw and understood what her husband was going through. Fear had ripped through her when the lights from the curses suddenly ceased that night. In their place, sounds of Apparition echoed through the valley so loud they shook the windows of the Delacour mansion. It was eleven pm, the night before All Saints day, 1981.

She'd never forget when her husband showed up an hour later. Reports had come across _la Manche_ that Voldemort had been defeated. The battle she'd seen had ended when the Death Eaters felt the destruction of their Dark Lord. . . .

. . . And the reason the war ended that night, was now under their roof—and he needed their help.

Apolline walked into the large, open family room where her husband was sitting on the small love seat, looking out over the valley and sat next to him.

"My love," she began, "the boy who is walking up the very same path you walked that last night you fought Death Eaters, is the same boy who ended that war. Will you turn him away now that he is need of our help?"

He looked at her.

And Apolline Delacour, for the first time in her life, feared her husband. No one could stare into those eyes and not have the same reaction. Warriors have a certain look to them, even if they start out in life as a Apparition teachers, and no matter how many years the warrior hides beneath the surface of a family man, he remains, just below the surface.

His voice shook her out of her thoughts. "You know me better than that, Apolline. You have no need to even ask," he growled before facing his wife, his voice now as cold as a sepulcher. "I will not refuse him short-term shelter, or the help he needs. To do so would be both irresponsible and wrong, but if he brings danger to this family, I will turn this house, this town, this country into Abaddon's lair before I let you or one of my daughters suffer. If that means turning against 'Arry Potter, then I will do it. My family will not be 'urt."

Apolline tried to calm her breathing as she reached over and placed a still shaking hand on the back of his neck, playing with his hair. "This is one of the reasons I married you. You care too much for those whom you love. But I also know you care much for those who are in need of love."

She paused, letting it sink in. "His story isn't a secret, _mon Cher_. I expect you to do no less for him, nor worry any less about your wife and daughters." She leaned over and kissed him, still proud to be married to the man after all these years, even more so now after seeing a hint of what he had to become to protect is family. She couldn't help but wonder how many others had become the same thing.

Looking out the window, Harry was just now cresting the hill to go back into his room, but the look on his young face was eerily reminiscent of her husband's.

_What the. . . ? _

She shook off the thought. Chances are, he and Fleur were stuck at the school with everyone else and got to France as soon as possible. There's no way a boy the age of Harry Potter could have the same experiences as her husband and others that fought day after day in that war.

Apolline kissed her husband before leaving the room, deciding that it was time to introduce herself to the young wizard.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

After leaving the kitchen, Fleur went back to her room to put away the items from her trunk before seeing her sister. Finished floating and banishing everything to their respective places, she walked down to the other end of the hall. Quietly, she opened the door and whispered, "Gabrielle?"

"Fleur?" a faint whisper returned.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, walking into the room. Gabrielle reached for her wand and a moment later, the room filled with a soft light.

"Oh, Gabrielle! You should see yourself!"

"Am I as beautiful as you?"

Fleur was caught short, amazed at how such a simple question could be so complex. The Veela heritage assured that Gabrielle would be gorgeous, but Fleur's little sister was more than that, she was beautiful in a way Fleur so desperately wanted to be.

"It's okay," Gabrielle continued, a little saddened when Fleur didn't answer right away. "I just hoped that we could look like sisters again."

Fleur sat at the edge of her bed. "You're beautiful, now I want you promise me something."

"Okay, I promise."

Fleur snickered. "How can you say you'll promise when you don't even know what you're promising?"

"Because I trust you; you're my heroine!"

A heroine? Fleur thought to herself. It was a hero that saved you when I couldn't, a hero that saved me from Voldemort, a hero that I forced to Portkey to France—forced to stop being a hero for others.

But wasn't that the right thing? She argued with herself, forgetting where she was. He would have died if he stayed.

That may be, she continued, but what I did when we got here, was that right?

"What's wrong?" Gabrielle asked, quickly trying to sit up.

Fleur reached out and stopped her, softly laying her head back down on the pillow. "Don't move so fast," she said. "When I was going through this, any sudden movement made me so dizzy I thought I'd get sick."

"I'm already sick." Gabrielle switched to English. "I think you mean you wanted to puke, or ralph, or upchuck!"

Fleur squeezed her eyebrows together. "That's rather crude! And since when is your English so good?"

Gabrielle switched back to French. "They're great words, aren't they! I learned them from an American witch I'm friends with now. We practice speaking English one day and French the next."

Fleur gazed at her sister proudly, just a few weeks away from becoming a legal Veela adult. "I'm impressed, but remember not to use them around Maman. She speaks English as well and you'd send her into full-feather if she heard you using them."

Gabrielle laughed and wrapped her older sister in a big hug. "I missed you. I'm sorry we couldn't watch. I guess, I guess I was a little too excited about seeing 'Arry again. As soon as I saw him everything just went strange."

"It's happened to more than one witch." Fleur stopped for a second, trying not to laugh at the unintended admission. "Did Maman tell you what caused my transformation to happen so quickly?"

"She said you got kissed!"

Fleur laughed. "Oh, did I ever. I started changing about half a minute into it. By the time I got home, I already looked like this. About three seconds after I got through the door, I changed again."

Gabrielle gasped. "You went right into your bird form?"

"Yeah, it was so traumatic I even started molting."

Gabrielle laughed so hard she grabbed her head and moaned.

"Easy, Gabby," Fleur reminded her.

When she was able to speak again, Gabrielle had to ask, "Did you really molt?"

"Probably not, but there were so many feathers in the foyer that it looked like I did. Papa still swears that's what happened."

Gabrielle's eyes widened. "Was Papa there when you changed?"

"Yeah. I think we're both still scarred from it, too."

"I would be so embarrassed."

"I was. Last thing I ever wanted him to see was me as a naked adult Veela. But if you haven't practiced using your Veela magic to banish your clothes safely, that's exactly what's going to happen."

Fleur watched as a look of horror crossed Gabrielle's face and waited for the next question she knew was coming.

"Would you teach me as soon as I'm ready? I really don't want to do that in front of Papa."

Fleur almost teased Gabrielle, telling her that she wouldn't want to do it in front of Harry either, but she figured it wouldn't be a good idea to let Gabrielle know Harry was in the house; at least not yet, so she just answered the question.

"What are big sisters for?"

Gabrielle grinned madly. "Thanks!" But after a few more seconds, her mood seemed to shift.

"Um, Fleur, was Papa mad at you when you transformed?"

"Of course not. Why?"

"He just seems mad at me all the time now. Well, not really mad, but, upset."

"I think it has more to do with his little girl growing up," Fleur said. "Papas usually have four or five years to get used their daughters becoming women, but, four days ago you were a little girl and now you have the body of a twenty-two year old model."

Gabrielle beamed.

"And in a few weeks your other changes will be finished making you a legal Veela adult, which means Papa can't stop you from making decisions or even getting married. He's just upset because he's losing his last little girl."

Gabrielle nodded. "I don't like him being upset with me."

"Don't worry, he's not upset with you. Papa loves us too much to be upset about something like that. He just worries that we'll be safe and find the right guy and whatever else papas always worry about."

"I guess." Gabrielle changed the subject. "So why did everything happened so fast for you, if it usually takes weeks?"

"Maman asked the Zekānōt when she announced my transformation. They said sometimes it just happens that way." Fleur adjusted the way she was leaning on the bed. "Nothing else sped up though, It still took me a couple weeks before I could do more than sit up for an hour and another week or so to gain full control of my Veela magic."

"Really? It just takes a week?"

"About that. Veela magic isn't like wizard magic, it's more like breathing. You do it naturally, but you can learn to hold your breath, or blow it out really hard. You can hold in your Veela magic, or you can push it out really hard, but either way, you don't really have to think about it that much, especially after you've learned how to control it. Anyway, there's no reason to apologize for missing the tournament. After all, you can't help who you're attracted to."

"I know, I just wish we could have been there that night."

"I'm rather happy you were home safe," Fleur said cryptically. "So, 'Arry Potter? I guess he _is_ kind of cute, isn't he?"

"Who?" Gabrielle asked innocently.

Fleur motioned to the pictures and articles on her walls. "Don't be coy, Gabby!"

She giggled, lowered her head down a little, and looked up at Fleur from under her eyelashes, giving Fleur the first glimpse of the sultry look an adult Gabrielle was going to be able to pull off.

Fleur groaned quietly, knowing the look was completely unintentional, which made it so much worse. When she learned how to use it, on top of the natural Veela charms. . . . "Gabby, you're going to be trouble, aren't you?" She asked.

Gabrielle giggled again and Fleur groaned louder.

"Anyway, I want you to remember that many, many wizards and Vulgaire men are going to be as attracted to you as you seem to be to 'Arry."

"I know, I've seen wizards around you. Don't worry, I've watched you and know exactly how to ignore them."

Fleur touched her younger sister's arm. "That's part of what I want you to promise me. Be nice to them, Gabrielle, it's not you who are attracting them; it's the Veela in you. You will have to be firm, but please, be nice."

"Okay," Gabrielle said, as if it made all the sense in the world. Fleur was again amazed at how much her not-so-little sister trusted her.

"You said that was part of it, what else did you want me to promise?" she asked.

"Don't confuse your looks with being beautiful. You'll find out someday soon that being a Veela is wonderful and being gorgeous, for us, is easy. But we are also human and it's very difficult to be a beautiful human. Just keep asking yourself, 'Would a blind wizard think I'm beautiful today,' okay?"

"But a blind wizard can't see!" she protested.

"I know, that's my point."

Gabrielle scrunched up her eyebrows. "It must be a maturity thing."

Fleur laughed, then bent down and kissed her sister's cheek. "You'll understand soon enough. The last part of your transformation is maturity. It takes a few more weeks, plus experience, but just keep being who you are and remember the question; ask it often of yourself."

"Okay."

"Good. When you're feeling better"—Fleur paused and looked at her sister, realizing again that even without Veela magic, her effect on wizards would be tremendous—"and you have _all _your Veela powers under control, we'll go out and celebrate your becoming an adult. Okay?"

Gabrielle's face split from ear to ear. "That'd be great! We can go to the _Wizarding Street_ and we can shop and I'll take you to _Vulgaire_ Paris and show you an American store that serves all types of coffee and you can show me how to act like a Veela in public and we—"

Fleur laughed again. "Slow down. I'm not going anywhere for a while, so we can do whatever you want when you're ready."

"I can't wait! Thanks for coming home. I really did miss you."

"I've missed you, too," Fleur answered. But as her eyes lingered on the younger Veela, her thoughts wandered to another country where newly found friends were missing parents and loved ones, where witches a little older that Gabrielle had died a few days ago to protect their little sisters and brothers, where a witch named Ginny Weasley died for Harry and her and the other Champions.

Fleur exited the room so Gabrielle wouldn't see her struggling with her emotions again.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Apolline was walking to Harry's bedroom when she heard Fleur talking to her younger daughter. There was something in her voice that made Apolline stop and listen.

It was nice to hear the two of them laughing together again. But when she saw Fleur emerge from the room, she wasn't laughing anymore. Apolline put her arms around her daughter and held on tightly.

"Shh, Fleur. Whatever it is, we are here," her mother said after a few minutes.

"It's just been so much."

"I can tell. I'm starting to worry_, mon Fifille_."

"There's no need. It's just time for me to grow up."

Apolline nodded, a little surprised. "Does growing up having anything to do with being a beautiful human?"

"You heard that?"

"I did, what did you mean?"

Fleur had to clear her throat before she could talk. "It's just that I realized I don't want someone to just be in love with me as a Veela, I want them to be in love me as a _human_ as well; I want them to see through the Veela looks to who I am, and love me for, for being _me_ and if I am not so beautiful when he sees past the Veela like he does then why will he ever stay with me?" She finally took a breath.

"He?" Apolline turned to the side so Fleur could see the door to Harry's bedroom.

She watched a myriad of emotions flash across her daughter's face before Fleur answered. "That's something else I don't want to talk about, but I could do so much worse."

"I thought you wanted an older, stayed wizard, 'Someone with status and direction,' I think you said last summer."

"I want someone who loves me, not gives me status. You didn't raise me to care about status anyway. Direction, we can find together."

With that, Apolline found herself being hugged again before she was left alone, standing in the hallway.

She was both ecstatic and horrified over the daughter who had returned. Fleur had finally grown up, but what crucible wrought such change so quickly?

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A little later in the afternoon, Fleur was standing in the kitchen, arguing with a house-elf.

"No, _Mademoiselle_ Fleur. Froissé be doing the cooking!"

"Froissé, you cook wonderfully, but I want to make something special for someone."

"_Mademoiselle_ Fleur think Froissé not cook special enough?" Tears gathered at the bottom of her eyes.

"It's always special, but I. . . ." Fleur stopped for a second, thinking about how to express what she wanted to say. "I want to serve like Froissé serves so I can be happy."

"Why would _Mademoiselle_ Fleur do that? _Mademoiselle _Fleur likes to be served, not serve others."

Fleur knelt, eye-level with the elf. "That Fleur was left in Britain, hopefully never to be heard from again. But this Fleur wants to serve my friend, so that I can be happy, like Froissé is happy when she serves, yes?"

The house-elf clumped to her. "Froissé _is_ happy. Froissé's _Mademoiselle _Fleur is home. Not nasty _Mademoiselle _Fleur from Beauxbatons."

_Ouch_, _guess I deserved that._ "It took me a while to find my way back, but I'm trying. So will Froissé let me cook so I can serve my friend?"

"_Mademoiselle _Fleur can help Froissé cook!"

Fleur sighed, figuring that was the best offer she was going to get. "Alright."

Together, they prepared croissants and fruit tartes for _Le Goûter_, equal to a late afternoon snack, though no self-respecting French citizen, Vulgaire or wizard, would admit it as such. _Le Goûter _is a much more sophisticated. . . snack.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"'Arry?"

Harry wondered how long it would be before she sought him out. He also wondered why his stomach was doing flips at the sound of her voice. Hadn't he settled this issue already?

He opened the door and walked back to the chair he'd been sitting in.

"Papa and Maman say you 'aven't eaten today. Is this true?"

Harry nodded once.

"Please 'Arry, say something." Fleur set the tray on the coffee table and sat down next to him in the other chair.

He looked up at her and was taken in by her eyes—as if he was looking through a window into the softest, almost Maya blue sky. His heart caught in his throat.

"I'm, I'm not sure what to say," he whispered.

Why did Fleur have this affect on him? She didn't back at the Burrow, well, not totally. He knew it wasn't her magic, but everything he had decided on just a little earlier seemed to have dissolved as soon as she walked into the room.

"Then let me begin. I was mad this morning 'Arry. You almost left me and if you did, there would be no way I could get you to France and safety." Fleur's voice got quieter. "I didn't want you to die. I couldn't 'ave that."

"But, that's where I belong." Harry countered. "Not here. Not somewhere in the middle of France safe when everyone I've ever known in my world is being killed."

Fleur looked down. Harry almost missed it when she began speaking again a few moments later. "Your godfather wanted me to bring you to France. When you're ready 'Arry, I promise"—tears started and Harry had to fight himself from reaching out to her—"I promise I won't stop you from going back, but only when you're ready. Please don't do it now. Please 'Arry?"

He sat silently.

"Do you promise?" she almost begged.

_This is worse than fighting Voldemort! _Thankfully, he didn't say that out loud. "I guess. I really don't have a choice, do I?"

Fleur smiled and handed him a croissant. "It won't be as good as what you bought me yesterday, but it should be edible I think, no?"

Harry took a bite. "I can see why you weren't happy with English food. This is really good." He could see from the way she was looking at him that he at least did something right, so he tried the fruit tart and complimented it as well.

She was beaming. "Thank you, my 'ouse-elf and I made them for you."

Harry suddenly found himself very uncomfortable. It was one thing for him to buy gifts for others, or to get something from Ron or Hermione, but for Fleur to _cook_ for him? Where does that fall on the line between taking care of a little boy and love?"

"You didn't have to do that Fleur. I'm sorry to be a bother."

"A bother? _Non_, 'Arry, I wanted to make this for you."

Harry clamped his mouth shut, tightly, before the questions that were right there on his tongue spilled out, questions he so desperately wanted answers to—why did she help him? Did she care about him? Did she love. . . Harry mentally stumbled over that one. He knew it was foolish to think he'd _ever _be that lucky and if he was, it'd just cause more grief once he did what he had to do after killing Voldemort.

Fleur changed the subject. "Papa said you can stay the apartment downstairs. It is a little more private and not across the hall from a transforming Veela. It might not be so good to 'ave 'er 'ero next to 'er. Maybe her magic is stronger than mine, no? That's not a chance I think I want to take."

The wink confirmed that she was playing with him, trying to ease him into this peaceful world she had violently flung him into, but for the second time that day a single word reverberated in Harry's thoughts.

Hero_._

No, heroes don't endanger friends nor do they take someone who should be fawned over into the middle of a battle on the back of a broomstick.

"I'm no hero, Fleur."

Fleur lifted her hand to touch Harry's face, but he reacted involuntarily, flinching back and cringing.

Fleur gasped. "Non, 'Arry. Non, non, non. I wasn't going to 'it you, I would never 'it . . ." her voice trailed off as she closed her eyes and dropped her head to her chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered before quickly leaving the room.

Not knowing what else to do and having no idea how to handle the emotions of an older witch, let alone a quarter-Veela, Harry stared at the door as it closed behind her.

Throughout his life, and so much more over the last few days, Harry had screwed the lid down on his emotions. When they did emerge, his emotions showed themselves as rage or anger or even pain. But the free-flowing emotion he saw from Fleur both attracted him and scared him; and in the end, he couldn't deal with it, not if he wanted to succeed in what he needed to do.

Harry retrieved the book he'd hidden under the pillows on the bed. He had hidden it because he remembered Fleur's reaction in the cave when she read the title, _A Dark Journey to Power,_ and didn't want to see what her reaction would have been this time.

Hopefully, he could learn about the journey wizards before him had taken, maybe even find out why some of them got so out of control.

Even though Harry knew his destiny, he didn't want to lose himself in the journey, not completely anyway.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Dinner was usually served late in the Delacour home.

Fleur, in her bedroom, used numerous charms and ready-to-use potions so she didn't look like she been crying most of the afternoon. It wasn't that she wanted to hide it for vanity's sake, but rather, after the way she came home this morning and what her mother saw earlier, Fleur didn't want to give them any more reason to worry during dinner.

"Have I told you how happy I am to have you home?" her father asked as she walked into the informal dining room just off the kitchen.

"Three or four times, I think," Fleur answered with a light laugh.

He chuckled, but quickly turned serious. "We've been very worried about you, afraid you were caught up in whatever was happening across _la_ _Manche_."

Fleur sat down. "We were."

Her mother came into the dining room. "Should I go see if 'Arry wants to eat?"

"No," Fleur answered. "I made him something for _Le Goûter_. If he wants dinner, I'll take it to him after we're finished. He probably wants to be alone now."

Fleur again missed the look her parents shared.

"Then we will have this night to ourselves to celebrate your return," her father announced. "I'll cook." He got up and walked into the kitchen.

"Won't Froissé be upset?" Fleur asked.

"I gave her the task of redecorating the downstairs apartment. She and the other elves are all happily making it suitable for _Monsieur_ Potter."

"Oh. Well, if you're cooking, could you make an English dish? 'Arry has never had a real French meal. He's used to the heavier English foods and I really doubt he likes bouillabaisse." She smiled at the memory.

Fleur barely caught sight of her father, leaning back and staring at her from the entrance to the kitchen, though she was very aware—and very much ignoring—her mother who wasn't trying too hard to restrain her own grin.

Maman, why do you have to be so bloody perceptive? _Zut_! How many English habits have I picked up this year?

"Well then, I will make something for us, and then an English dish for 'Arry Potter so he can eat in private after we are finished."

Fleur heard him chuckling as he pulled out pots and pans, enjoying the physical work of cooking for a reason neither mother nor daughter ever understood.

"We've only had sketchy reports at work," her father was saying a while later as they began eating. "What happened at 'Ogwarts."

"A dragon almost burnt her skirt off, I heard."

Fleur's fork clattered to her plate. "'Arry?"

His smile had a dark tinge to it, almost bitter, but not quite. "Sorry to startle you."

"We are informal here," Fleur's father said to him. "Take a plate off the buffet cabinet and come eat with us, or if you wait, I'll make you an English dish that you're more familiar with."

"Thank you, sir, but this will be fine." Harry walked into the room and turned his back to Fleur to pick up a plate and utensils.

She noticed that the trousers he was wearing almost fit him. They were much better than the weekend clothes she'd seen him wearing around Hogwarts. The legs were a bit long, but the trousers were definitely tighter in the derrière and that was good. Well, wait a second, that seemed to be _very _good—Fleur blushed as Harry turned around.

Seeing his shirt, she rolled her eyes. "Papa, did you pick out 'Arry's shirt this morning?"

"No, _mon Fifille_, I chose it," her mother answered. "Why do you ask?"

Fleur glanced at her mother, who was looking at her rather intently and smirking now.

"I was wondering why you chose to put the jersey of the French national team on the back of an English wizard?"

"Well, since 'e's in France," she began, "'e should try to fit in and a French jersey always makes an English wizard look good. I thought it would go well with the trousers, don't you think so?" she asked, winking at Fleur. Her smirk grew a little larger.

I'm going to so get you back for this, Maman.

Fleur was saved by Harry. "Speaking of which, I was going to ask where I could buy some clothes tomorrow. I guess I also need to wash what I was wearing this morning as well."

Fleur began to answer, but was cut off by her mother, who looked to be enjoying herself a little too much. "I don't think Fleur would mind you wearing those trousers and jersey again tomorrow. We can wash them tonight."

Fleur turned bright red, growled out a warning to her mother in French, and answered Harry's question. "There's a store that sells shirts in town. You should be able to get some trousers there as well."

"Um, okay. Thanks."

Fleur knew something was off, but couldn't figure out what it was.

"'Arry," Jacque began, "They sell, 'ow do you say it, boxers? Yes, boxer shorts there.

"Thank you, sir." Harry answered, turning slightly red.

Fleur had to bite her lip to stop from laughing at his flush, but didn't fail to notice again just how cute it was.

"'Arry," Fleur's mother began in a serious but warm tone, "It is very nice to meet the young man who is a 'ero to both of my daughters."

"Thank you, ma'am." stammered Harry. "And no ma'am, I am not a hero. Fleur is more of a hero than me."

"You are 'umble as well as adorable, don't you think so, Fleur?" her mother asked. Fleur tried to kick her under the table and growled out another warning in French. It included a couple of words that her mother hadn't heard in several years.

Harry's slight blush turned fire engine red.

"Also 'Arry," she continued, after promising Fleur she'd behave, "there is no reason to be formal in this 'ouse. A simple _'oui' _or _'non' _is sufficient."

"_Oui_?" Harry asked.

Fleur could have sworn she saw his eyes flick towards her before looking back at her mother.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't understand French. Is 'we' like 'us" or 'my'? Or is it 'yes'?"

He glanced at Fleur and she noticed his expression softening. It wasn't much, but it was a start. She flashed a big smile back at him and again ignored her mother's grin.

"'Arry," her father began, more focused on what the future held for all of them than a budding romance in the dining room, "why do you say Fleur is more of a 'ero than you?"

"_Non_, Papa. We are not speaking of that at dinner."

"Fleur, when I 'ear my daughter praised like that, it makes me curious to know what you 'ave done and you 'ave avoided the conversation all day."

Fleur anglicized _Papa _to drive home the point. "Father, you will _not_ make 'Arry speak of it during dinner."

She received uplifted eyebrows in response, but the subject was dropped. The rest of dinner consisted of talk about Wizarding France. Harry found out that the Muggle French National Hockey team was gaining in popularity among the French Magicals (which explained the jersey he was wearing). Of course, it was mainly because the hockey team had won the World Championship last year and the French Quidditch team . . . well, it really wasn't worth talking about.

But as a sport, both Fleur's father and Harry loved Quidditch. Fleur and her mother watched as the two wizards began to build a bond over Porskoff Ploys, Zagob deeks, and Wronski Feints.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

After dinner, they retired to a large sitting room on the other side of the house. The fireplace took up an entire corner. The firebox was made of field stones cut and smoothed. The rest of it, including the chimney, was built out of Carrar White marble, intricately carved with the Fleur-di-lis centered on the mantle.

The room itself was large, with a cathedral ceiling far above their heads. Two chairs and a small love seat sat in front of the fireplace. Mrs. Delacour claimed one of the chairs and motioned her husband to the other one.

Fleur groaned, to her amusement.

"Comfortable, 'Arry?" Mrs. Delacour teased once they were all settled.

"Stop it, Maman. I think 'Arry 'as been teased enough."

As Fleur spoke, Harry felt her hand running through the back of his hair and pressed back gently, savoring the touch.

"It's getting so long," she said a few moments later, combing her fingers through it.

"I haven't had time to get it cut since just before the Yule ball."

"That's okay, I think it looks very good on you."

"Mr. Delacour, you were asking about Hogwarts earlier?" Harry asked to change the subject before he completely forgot everything he had promised himself earlier in the day.

"We don't need to talk about that, 'Arry," Fleur reminded him.

Harry disagreed. "I'm sure your parents want to hear about it. You and the other Champions saved my life. That's something they should know about."

Fleur's parents looked at her wide-eyed.

"It's not necessary to tell them," Fleur answered. "At least not that part."

"Then tell us something," her father said. "We've been getting reports at the Ministry that it may be upwards of thirty or more teachers and adults that were killed, maybe even a few of the older students."

"I wish it was true," Harry mumbled.

"Pardon me? What do you mean?" Mr. Delacour asked.

"I meant, I wish it were only thirty."

Fleur's father leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "'Ow many?"

"Almost all of them."

"All the adults?" he asked, astonished.

"No," Harry answered. "Almost everyone; adults, students - there's only a few of us left alive. Even more would have died, but they fought the Death Eaters so the younger ones could escape."

"_Non_!" He was suddenly pale. "Madame Maxime?"

"She's dead," Fleur answered in a faltering voice.

Harry took Fleur's hand without even thinking about it, trying to give her support and strength through the physical contact and wondering why he reacted so strongly to her every time the slightest thing was wrong—except when it involved him.

"I didn't see 'er body, but a few others saw 'er die. They were clearing the maze looking for us and didn't bother trying to protect themselves."

"But, 'ow?"

Harry and Fleur looked at each other for what seemed like forever before Fleur quietly answered.

"He rose, Papa."

"Who rose?" Mrs. Delacour asked, cutting off her husband who was just about to probably ask the same question.

"Voldemort." A shift took place in Harry as he answered, his voice expressionless and monotone.

Mrs. Delacour gasped.

Looking at her, Harry saw sadness and fear mixed in her expression as she stared back.

Mr. Delacour sat up straight and his voice boomed through the house, blustering in denial. "Do you know how many murders happened in France because of him and his Death Eaters? That's a hell of a thing to say, young man. Just how sure are you?"

Harry snorted, trying to keep the anger that began to rise out of his voice. "Sure? He had me bound and used my blood in a ritual to gain a new body." Harry pulled up the sleeve of his jersey and showed them the wound that was just now beginning to close properly. "This is where his Death Eater cut me."

Mr. Delacour turned white as his denial grew stronger. "It can't be! There's no way 'e would 'ave let you go!"

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "No? It can't be? Then explain 'ow I saw 'im torture 'Arry, Papa; 'ow 'e killed one of the other Champions, or 'ow 'e raised 'is wand to kill me! 'E would 'ave too if 'Arry 'adn't saved my life."

"What do you mean, 'raised his wand to kill you'?" Mr. Delacour responded in a low and dangerous voice. "Tell me you weren't dueling Voldemort."

"Yes, I was! 'E had his wand on me and was casting the Killing Curse."

"AND YOU JUST STOOD THERE AND LET 'IM?" her mother exploded.

"NO!" Fleur shouted back. "I JUST KILLED THE BASTARD NEXT TO HIM!"

"She saved my life," Harry said, hoping to calm the two Veela down. "Voldemort was hitting me with a _Cruciatus _Curse, then moved on to a few others. Fleur and the other Champions were at the bottom of a little hill. I told them to leave but they wouldn't listen to me. Instead, they raced up it and killed Five Death Eaters, but one of the other Champions was also killed by Voldemort, then he turned his wand on Fleur. It was only after she saved me that I was able to save her."

It was amazing how loud silence could be.

"You murdered someone?" her mother whispered.

"No! I saved 'Arry's life."

"But 'Arry just said—"

Fleur cut her off, loudly. "'E said that I killed the Death Eater! Killed, not murdered! They were torturing Harry! _'E _was torturing Harry!"

Fleur's voice rose even louder and she began gesticulating wildly, Harry had no idea how they were still speaking in English while being this upset.

"Do you know what it's like sitting at the bottom of a little 'ill and 'earing a fourteen year old man being 'it with _Cruciatus _Curse repeatedly? 'Ave you ever looked up and watched curses light up the night sky, knowing every one of them 'it the very person who saved your sister's life? _Non_, Maman. The other two Champions and I rushed to the top of the 'ill and _killed_ three of them. Cedric was killed by Voldemort then turned on me. 'Arry saved my life. We were able to _kill _two more before 'Arry won 'is duel with Voldemort and we Apparated back to the school."

Her parents looked like the air had been sucked out of the room.

"'Ow did you do it," Mr. Delacour finally asked Harry.

"Do what?" Fleur asked before Harry could say anything.

"How did he save your life?"

"Do you really want to know?" She questioned. Harry could hear a tone of warning telling both parents to leave the subject alone.

Her father conceded. "So he saved you and what, you ran back to the school?"

Fleur took Harry's hand again and held on tightly as they told her parents the rest of the story, up to using the Portkey to get to France.

For his part, Harry found himself so thoroughly confused about Fleur that for the first time in his life, he was happy to be talking about his exploits. At least he didn't have to think about everything he was feeling as she now leaned against him, her head on his shoulder and her hands holding his.

". . . And that's how we ended up here this morning," Harry finished. "I apologize for being a bother and promise to be out of your way as soon as I can find somewhere to stay."

"What?" Fleur sat up and turned on him, eyes narrowing at him this time.

"It would seem, _Monsieur_ Potter," Mrs. Delacour began with another smile, "that my daughter is not 'appy with that plan. I think maybe you will stay in the downstairs apartment for a while, no?"

"I—I'm not sure if I should do that." Harry answered, a bit quieter.

"Why?" Fleur asked. There was that look again, the look that made Harry want to move mountains just to make her happy.

"I guess I'm not comfortable living here without helping, or paying rent or something."

"Rent?" Mr. Delacour repeated. "Do you have the means to pay rent, 'Arry?"

"Yes, sir, depending on how much it is."

"You are not going to charge 'Arry rent, Papa! Maman, tell 'im!"

"Fleur, I will charge him rent if that is what 'e wants. 'Arry, do you know 'ow much rent is?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Delacour thought for a few seconds. "This is what we will do. I will charge you one Galleon a month to live in the apartment downstairs, eat our food, and treat this 'ouse as yours. Is that fair?"

"No, sir," Harry replied. "I don't know how much rent is, but I do know it's more than a Galleon a month. That wouldn't even cover food for a day."

"All right then, five Galleons a month and you will spend two hours a day fixing the rock wall that is broken in the garden. Is that acceptable?"

Harry nodded. "I guess so, sir. Thank you."

"You're welcome, 'Arry, but if you don't stop calling me sir, I'll make you wish Voldemort finished what he started in that graveyard."

Harry noticed Fleur and her mother both gasping before launching into a cacophony of screamed threats and questions about Mr. Delacour's sanity. Harry swore he even saw the beginnings of Fleur transforming before she caught herself, but in all the commotion, Harry noticed Jacque tipping his head ever so slightly after closely scrutinizing Harry's reactions.

He knew Mr. Delacour was looking for something, and whatever it was, Harry had passed the test. He didn't like it, but he also recognized in the tip of the head, a certain respect.

In the midst of the two French Veela still yelling and Harry watching Mr. Delacour, nobody noticed the youngest Veela in the house gingerly coming out of the hallway into the open room.

"Why is everyone yelling?" she asked in French, catching them by surprise.

Harry looked over and saw someone whom he vaguely recognized. He had to admit to himself that she was breathtaking. She looked somewhat different than Fleur, but had that same ethereal beauty that both Fleur and her mother . . .

Then it hit him. "Gabrielle?"

Everything but her eyes froze as Harry leaned forward to say hi.

"'ARRY!"

_POOF_! Clothes, flesh, and feathers were everywhere as Gabrielle repeated the same incident as her sister.

Harry was mortified as he looked on. First, he noticed the gorgeous Veela standing still. Then, the hallway was littered with clothes as said gorgeous Veela stood before him naked as the transformation began.

At the same moment, Harry was hit with all Gabrielle's Veela magic.

In that split second, he remembered someone hanging on his arm, turned away, and closed his eyes, even though his heart began to race and his body dumped pheromones into his system, and the air.

"Impressive . . . and appreciated." Mr. Delacour said to Harry. Fleur and Ms. Delacour jumped out of their seats and ran across the room.

"Bloody hell she's strong!" Harry said through clenched teeth as he continued to fight the attraction.

A high-pitched scream told Harry that Gabrielle had come back to her senses. The desire to bed her disappeared completely.

Both wizards heard a 'whoosh' as feathers went everywhere, they turned on reflex just in time to see the young Veela running down the hall, already shifting out of her avian form.

Harry couldn't help but notice that Gabrielle now had a _very _nice bum.

He closed his eyes tightly. "That was probably something I should have never seen," he mumbled.

"You?" Mr. Delacour spat out. "I'm her damn father. That makes both daughters that I've . . . seen." He shuddered. "A man _never _wants to see 'is grown daughter naked."

"Froissé!" he cried out.

The house-elf appeared out of thin air.

Mr. Delacour wasted no time. "Alcohol, lots of it. In a glass. A big glass."

He looked over at Harry. "Two glasses. Bring the bottle."

An hour and a three-quarters of the bottle later Mr. Delacour was still trying to drown the memories, as was Harry. The two witches came back and had a drink with them, though they mainly laughed at the two wizards.

Even so, plans were made for Harry and Fleur to go to the French version of the Ministry of Magic and give testimony to what they saw in the UK.

A while later, Harry was shown his new room downstairs, though he needed Fleur's help to get to it.

It had been his first time drinking.

"So, 'Arry, think my sister is pretty?"

Harry muttered something that sounded an awful lot like "evil witch," making Fleur laugh.

She helped him undress and get into bed, then headed back upstairs as Harry pondering the day, mad at himself for not withstanding Fleur's ability to throw his entire world into chaos with just one look or word. He knew what destiny lay ahead. Why couldn't he put everything else aside? Why couldn't he put her aside?

In his inebriated state, he could be honest with himself. He knew exactly what he was going to become; a monster that hunted and killed for the pleasure of revenge. He was going to master the Dark Arts and become one of darkest wizards to have ever set foot in Britain. If Voldemort marked him as his equal, then Harry was going to become it, or his better.

Someplace he remembered reading, _In vino veritas_. "In wine, truth." Well, it wasn't exactly wine, but he couldn't hide from the truth; he had set a path to the Dark Arts and there was no way he wanted Fleur to see this journey.

Harry fell asleep with Sirius's advice ringing in his ears. "Don't lead her on, Harry. Don't lead her on_._"

But for some reason a quiet voice, deep within Harry kept protesting, _I'm not! _

* * *

><p><strong>AN **

Zekānōt: Hebrew transliteration literally meaning old women, but in context it can (and does here) elders (female). Thus, it is the council of Veela elders.

Gegenumenou: Alright, I struggled with this one and am still not sure if the parsing is correct, but anyway, it is the perfect passive participle feminine genitive of the Greek word for "come to be." hence, it is her "becoming."


	10. Outcomes

.

**Chapter Ten **

**Outcomes**

Harry woke up with searing headache, though, this time, it had nothing to do with his scar. The source of this headache was two-fold; a result of copious amounts of alcohol and lying awake half the night, his emotions pulling him in opposite directions over Fleur.

The former was easy to solve, at least in the long-term. He'd stick to butterbeer and wine. The latter however, wasn't so easy.

Harry rolled over in bed and moaned. "I am _never _doing that again."

He fought the queasy feeling and let his mind drift, hoping to ignore the hangover. . .

. . . Before Fleur, it was simple. He was "The Boy Who Lived," not that he cared about title, but the reality behind it had centered his life; he would always find and be found by Voldemort until, one day, one killed the other. Harry didn't need a prophecy to tell him that. The day Hermione, Ron, and he saved the Philosopher's stone, he knew where his life would lead . . . and to whom.

But it sure as hell wasn't a blond-haired, blue-eyed French witch, nor was it lying in a bed in France daydreaming about her. What beautiful dreams they were; he had captured her heart and abandoned all that lay behind him in Britain. Harry would live his life and every day his greatest challenge would be making Fleur laugh and giggle and blush as they grew old together, raising a family where every child was loved; there wasn't even a damn closet under the stairs, let alone a lock on one.

The dreamed future was perfect, but at what point would the current reality destroy it? The prophecy was real and he couldn't run from his destiny—from his nightmare. The hellish vision broke through his enchanted daydream every time: a land once fair now lying in smoke and ruin as Harry looked on over the bodies of those he slew; some nameless place becoming a field of retribution for the killing grounds that had become Hogwarts. This future ended with Harry reaching into his magical core and releasing it in one last murderous explosion, taking Voldemort with him into whatever blackened afterlife remained for the two Dark Lords. There was no mucking about in this future; Harry always ended up a Dark Lord in order to exact the revenge promised against Voldemort on account of the growing number of dead bodies that had once been his friends.

"Hmpht." He took a deep breath, calming himself and willing the gagging to go away.

He so wanted the daydream, but knew the nightmare was his future—and he had to walk it alone. So, why then, was he unable to command his thoughts and feelings away from Fleur? Why was he being driven by something deep within himself to reach for something else that he knew should have been there his whole life—but wasn't until . . . when? Until he lay in a cave and Fleur wrapped her body over his, reaching out to him through her magic to protect him and replacing his nightmares with dreams of a blond-haired angel.

A smile spread across his face at the memory of the dreams.

What dreams they were—Fleur and Harry on a beach, the wind blowing, and no one around for miles as Fleur's ministrations gradually grew more and more intimate. How many times last night did he think about taking all his Galleons from his vault and making that dream become real? They could run away from it all, abandoning everything . . . but the prophecy.

Half the night last night, the two futures chased each other round and round in his inebriated brain until Harry seriously thought about Obliviating himself, just to get some rest.

It was no wonder he had a headache this morning, or felt like he was going to—

Harry forced himself out of bed and made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit in the bathtub. He shook his head, retrieved his wand, and cleaned up the mess before showering.

The rest of the morning wasn't any more enjoyable, either. He spent most of it at the edge of the Delacour property, about a hundred yards from the house, rebuilding the rock fence that surrounded the estate. The section he was working on had to be cleared of the loose river-rock, each one weighing a quarter on average, before it could be rebuilt. Harry set to work on the fence after a trip into town for cement powder. He did however, use magic to wet and stir the cement, but other than that it just felt right to put in the physical effort.

Fleur came to get him a little before lunch so he could clean up. They ate on the back patio. Harry spent the afternoon with Fleur, exploring the property and going into town for clothes. Dinner was eaten in the informal dining room again and Harry spent the evening in his apartment, studying late into the night on Horcruxes, Dark Arts, and even looking through a few of the English books on the shelves, including anthologies written by Percy Shelley.

This became the pattern of his life for the next few weeks, with the exception that he sometimes spent the afternoons on wand-work if he came across a spell that couldn't be practiced in his downstairs apartment. Of course, he was smart enough to wait until Fleur wasn't around to practice anything considered dark, which was pretty much everything he was doing now.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Two days later Harry was sitting in a chair on the patio having lunch with Fleur and her mother again. Gabrielle was still in bed, suffering through her transformation. Harry hadn't seen her since that first night, though Fleur said it would be just a few days longer before she could walk around without pain.

Speaking of pain—

"Ouch!" Harry mumbled as he reached for his glass.

"A little sore, 'Arry?" Fleur asked.

"Yeah, since we didn't have Quidditch this year, I'm not used to the physical work."

"That's something I don't understand," Mrs. Delacour began. "If Quidditch is played on a broom, 'ow is it such a physical workout?"

Harry remembered thinking the same thing after his first Quidditch practice. "Do you fly on a broom often, Mrs. Delacour?"

"Not really. I don't have much need anymore. Obviously I 'ave used them in the past."

"When you were on a broom and you wanted to go higher, you pulled up on the broom right?"

"_Oui_."

"And when you wanted to go left or right, you would lean that way and pulled the broom in the direction at the same time—or push it down when you wanted to land, correct?"

"That is correct, but it didn't take much effort."

"It doesn't, not when you flying normally. But if you're going all out and have to turn on a knut, it takes a lot of upper-body control and what's called core-strength to manipulate a broom at those speeds without falling off. So, if you're a Chaser, your having to both throw the Quaffle and avoid the Bludgers. Seekers have to be able to change directions at top speeds while fighting off the other Seeker. Otherwise, if you're following another Seeker who is doing, say, a Wronski Feint, you end up planting yourself in the ground like the Irish Seeker found out last year. You have to be _very _strong at the speeds they fly.

"Is that why Krum looked so good in 'is shirts?" Fleur teased.

"I guess," Harry answered, before realizing that she was trying to interject a little humor. "How did he look in his trousers?"

He had a good laugh at the look on Fleur's face, but before he could continue to take the mickey out of her, a fluttering of wings interrupted them.

"Hedwig!" Harry reached out to the owl as it landed on the table, hooted, and jumped on Harry's arm, nipping him on the ears in a show of affection.

Harry took a few seconds to make sure his owl was okay, before taken the letter from it.

"Stand back on the table girl, so I can use both hands."

Hedwig hopped back down to the table and Harry untied the letter.

"YES!" he yelled.

"What?" both Delacour Veelas asked in surprise. Harry almost laughed when he realized Mrs. Delacour was still holding on to the table, her knuckles turning white.

"It's Sirius! He, Remus, and Charlie are still alive! So is Tonks!"

Tears of joy threatened to overflow and Harry had a hard time reading the rest of the letter. "I can't believe it . . . how did . . . ?" He tried blinking a few times to clear them, but it wasn't helpful.

So much for clamping the lid down on his emotions.

Fleur ran her fingers through the back of his hair. "Do you want me to read it to you?"

He didn't get a chance to answer as Hedwig snatched the letter out of his hands with her beak and fluttered over to Fleur.

"Hello, are you okay?" Fleur asked, taking the letter and giving the owl a little of her lunch. "If you're done nipping at 'Arry, our Owlery is at the top of that building over there." She pointed to a building next to the house.

The owl nipped at Fleur lovingly and flew off to the spot she pointed at.

"Sirius says to not use 'Edwig as she is too easy to spot," Fleur read, "much like last year. He also wants to come visit sometime this summer if it's okay with my parents."

Mrs. Delacour nodded. "Is this the Sirius Black that was accused of those murders 'e didn't commit?"

"Yes, Maman_,_ and 'Arry's godfather, and the same person that helped save a bunch of lives at 'Ogwarts, and—"

"It's okay, _Mon __Fifille__, _I take your word that he's a good wizard. I was just making sure I was remembering the right person. Of course he can stay if he comes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Delacour." Harry answered, "I guess I should find a way to send a message back to him."

"You don't 'ave to," Fleur said. "Listen to the rest of the letter. 'Someone else will send Pig to you soon and you can reply with 'im. Hope you're doing better in France and remember what we talked about at the Leaky Cauldron."

She folded the letter and put it back into the envelope before giving it to Harry. "You feel better, no?"

He tenderly held the envelope, savoring the news. "I can't believe their live . . . I thought they'd all be dead."

He excused himself a minute or so later and escaped into his apartment for the afternoon.

**~ . ~ . ~**

Fleur and her mother watched him leave in silence.

"How are you two doing?"

"Pardon?"

Fleur's mother shook her head. "Nice try. I taught you how to read facial expressions and body language. Every time 'Arry walks into a room you tense up and he's uncomfortable sitting next to you, but when you run your fingers through his hair or take his hand, he relaxes almost as if he's taken by your Veela magic."

"You don't think that's what I'm doing, do you?" Fleur asked a little defensively.

"Of course not."

"So if you know everything then, why ask me?" Fleur questioned petulantly, with a look to match.

"You are my daughter. If I see something wrong, I worry. When you have a daughter that you love as much as I love you, you'll understand."

That took the fight out of Fleur. "Sorry, _Maman_. I guess, the answer is, 'I don't know.' When we were in England, all I could think about was getting here so I could talk to you about him. Now, I wish we were back in England. It all seemed so much easier there."

"What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I don't think it matters now."

"Why not?"

Fleur closed her eyes. "I've already lost my heart to him."

The only response Fleur received was a slight smirk that she saw a few seconds later when she looked back at her mother.

"But I don't know if he feels the same way for me."

Fleur's mother reached over and laid her hand on Fleur's. "I think he feels quite a bit for you. You've noticed how protective of you he is, especially when we go into town."

"He's protective of everyone and that's part of the problem. 'Arry is the type of wizard that would throw himself in front of a Killing Curse for someone he cares about."

"Is that so bad?" her mother asked.

"When there's a war happening and his friends are in the middle of it? When there's an active prophecy that 'Arry will fight against Voldemort and one of them will die? Yes, it is very bad, _Maman_."

"Ahh, but that's also part of who he is and probably part of what attracted you to him. If it changed, he would be different and I don't think you'd see him in the same way."

"Great," Fleur said sarcastically.

"I've also noticed that he seems hesitant around you, almost afraid, though not quite. Do you know why that would be?"

It was a topic Fleur didn't want to discuss, but who else could she go to for help? Her cousins would be more interested to learn if she _had done _Harry, not what she did _too_ him. As much as she loved her Papa, this wasn't something she really wanted to talk about with him. Gabrielle was not yet experienced enough to understand, though in a couple more years that'd change—another topic Fleur didn't want to think about now. The only person she could really talk to was her mother. With that decided, Fleur pushed on.

"I think I might. Remember what I told you the morning I came home?"

"Not really. I was too worried about you to think about anyone or anything else."

"I wonder how many times that has happened to him," Fleur mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Do you remember 'Arry telling you about the morning we used the Portkey?"

"_Oui_."

"He left out the part where we were flying directly over the battle and 'Arry and I were casting curses from his broom—"

"Fleur! Why would—"

"You weren't there! You have no idea what it was like!"

Her mother thought about it for a second and nodded for Fleur to go on.

"The house we were staying at was his best friends' house. The father and six siblings, including his best friend were killed the first night at 'Ogwarts. The night we took the Portkey here, 'Arry and I saw his best friend's mother killed. She was the closest thing he ever had to a mother."

Fleur's mother shook her head, looking down at her hands now in her lap.

"I convinced 'Arry to fly to a safe place and take the Portkey with me—"

"TELL ME you didn't use your Veela magic to do that!"

"No Maman, NOW STOP INTERRUPTING!"

Fleur took a few deep breaths to calm herself. "Sorry for yelling. This is hard enough, please!."

Her mother reached over and took Fleur's hand again. "I won't interrupt again, I promise."

Fleur nodded and waited a few more seconds before she could build up enough courage to continue. "I did something worse. Just before the Portkey activated, Harry let go of it. He wanted to go back to the battle to save what was left of his family. I jumped on him and pushed the Portkey against his neck as it activated.

"We landed here and both fell to the ground. I got up first. And when Harry stood, I. . . I slapped him—hard—across the face. I was scared that he was going to go back and get himself killed, that I was going to lose him, even if he did survive."

Fleur couldn't stay seated any longer, so she got up and gestured for her mother to walk with her.

"Have you explained that to him?" her mother asked as she took Fleur's hand in hers.

They walked into the garden.

"_Oui_, but the next day, I reached up to touch his cheek and he, he flinched." Fleur choked back the emotions. "He flinched like he thought I was going to hit him again. I knew his relatives didn't treat him right, but I never thought it was that bad." She stopped to face her mother. "Why did I have to hit him? Why did I act like that? I have never something like that before."

"You were scared. I can't condone what you did. I've always believed that if a witch doesn't want her husband to hit her, then she shouldn't hit her husband either, but that doesn't change the fact of how you were feeling at the time."

Fleur started back down the path. "Anyway, that's probably what you see and I don't know how to fix it. I've never cared for someone like this. I've never felt this deeply. I don't even know what to call it."

"I may," her mother hinted.

"Don't say it's love, please?"

"Why? Are you afraid of being in love?" her mother asked, gazing out over the ocean in the distance as they walked.

"No, yes, I don't know."

"Hmm. That clears it up."

Fleur gave her a small laugh and stopped walking as they came upon the newly repaired fence. She dropped her mother's hand and reached out to the wall that Harry had been fixing, running her fingers across the stone. "He's doing it by hand. The only time I see him using magic is to conjure water or stir the goop that he's using. Why would he do that? If he used magic, he'd almost be done. It'll take him all summer this way."

"I can't answer that, but those are the little mysteries that make relationships interesting. Have you asked him?"

Fleur shook her head. "No, I'm afraid that there's a story behind it that'll cause him too much pain. He seems to have a lot of those."

Her mother leaned against a part of the wall that Harry had finished a few days ago. "Listen to me. Some things happen in a wizard's life that he must keep secret. I've learned that from your father. After the first war, he never talked about what happened. I still know only scant details. It seems 'Arry has many similar stories. If you really care for him, then you also have to show him that he can trust you to tell you the stories—without you overreacting."

Fleur quirked an eyebrow at her mother. "So how are you doing with that, _Mademoiselle _Veela?"

"_Moi_?"

They both laughed.

"I'm still working on it," she finally answered, "but that doesn't change anything. He needs to be able to trust you."

"Yeah, have you heard his stories though? He fought a sixty-foot basilisk, with a sword. How is a protective Veela not supposed to overreact to that?"

"You're—you're serious, aren't you? A basilisk?"

Fleur grinned at her mother and started walking again. "I saw the memory in a Pensieve. He was only twelve at the time."

"TWELVE?" Apolline Delacour's voice shot through three octaves.

"See what I mean about overreacting? And yeah, twelve. He faced it alone while his best friend's little sister was dying a few feet away."

"I see what you meant the other day about him not being a young boy."

They continued in silence, eventually making the circuit and coming back to the house in the late afternoon. The meeting at the Ministry was set for Friday of the following week.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"'Arry? Wake up 'Arry." Fleur came into his room and sat on his bed, speaking in a sing-song voice. "'Arry, it's time to wake up."

Harry rolled over and hid beneath the covers.

Fleur smiled and slid them back down. Seeing his eyes still closed, she reached out and drew her fingertips across his cheek. "'We 'ave to go to the Ministry today with Papa."

He moaned.

"Staying up late? Is there something I need to know? You're not taking my gorgeous Veela sister for midnight strolls in the garden, are you?"

Harry rolled back over and gave Fleur his best "are you serious?" look. She started to laugh.

"I haven't even seen her since the first night." He shuddered to her amusement. "I stayed up 'till the early morning reading." He pointed to the books on the nightstand and gave her a sad smile. "Hermione would be proud of me."

Fleur heard the hurt in his voice, but had no idea what to do about it. She settled for sitting on the bed and reading the book titles, recognizing a few. They were classics written by both wizards and Muggles, but she was surprised that her father had a couple of Muggle autobiographies in the house, including one by an American she'd never heard of before.

"I'm impressed, there's not a Quidditch book to be found."

Harry lifted another book off the bed and handed it to her with a smirk. "I can't read French so I just look at the pictures." The smirk turned into a grin as he sat up.

Fleur noticed his facial expressions, the skin around the eyes was relaxed and the smile was more genuine, the set of his shoulders and position of his arms indicating openness. Hoping that maybe they could get beyond whatever it was that still stood between them, she offered her translation services. "The title is: _The One-hundred Best-Ever Quidditch Players. _Maybe I'll come down and read this to you one night before you go to sleep."

His body language changed immediately. She watched as he almost jumped at the chance before catching himself, mumbling something incoherent and getting out of bed, heading into the bathroom.

She waited, not wanting Harry to see any ill emotions. But as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, she slammed the book down on the bed so hard it to bounce back up almost waist level. Fleur paid it no mind as she stormed out of the room, frustrated and upset at herself—and Harry. Had he not forgiven her yet? What if he never did? What if he never got over it?

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Standing in front of the mirror, now showered and almost dressed, Harry noticed that he was beginning to fill out a little more in the chest and arms. It wasn't too perceptible and the shirts he wore covered it, but working with rocks weighing two and three stone was starting to give him a little bulk and definition.

He put on his shirt and light summer robe that he bought with Fleur's fashion help and thought again about the decision not to cut his hair. He wasn't sure why, but for some reason he'd decided to let it grow. Maybe it was just another example of the minor things in life that really shouldn't bother him anymore in the short time he had left.

Harry waved his wand over his hair to make sure it was dry and tried to tame it with a brush. At least the length weighed it down enough that he didn't have hair sticking up in the back anymore.

He exited the apartment, walking through the hallway, past the library and second downstairs bedroom, and then taking the stairs to meet Mr. Delacour and Fleur in the informal dining room.

"Good morning, 'Arry," Mr. Delacour welcomed him. "Thanks again for coming with me to the Magical Government today.

"_Bon matin_, _Monsieur_ Delacour, _Avec plaisir_," Harry said as he sat at the table.

He couldn't help but notice Fleur's surprise and the small smile. Her father called a house elf and Harry ordered breakfast.

"I'm glad to see you're taking an interest in the French language," Mr. Delacour said once the elf left, "but, we say _bonjour _until it is evening, then it's _bonsoir." _

"Oh."

"Don't worry 'Arry," her father continued. "There are differences like that in every language. French 'as so many idioms that is difficult to keep track of them sometimes. I take it you found the French grammar book in the library?"

"Yes sir."

"'Arry, please. I have enough gray hair as it is. If you keep calling me sir, I'm afraid the rest will follow. I think my wife 'as already said that you do not need to be so formal around us."

"Sorry, Mr. Delacour, I'm not use to addressing adults informally."

"That's okay, 'Arry. Let's talk about what's going to happen today."

Half an hour later, Harry stepped out of the Floo into a very large hall, almost falling to the Floor before Fleur caught him.

"I think I see why you prefer to fly on your broom, than travel by Portkey or Floo," she teased.

The fire flashed again and Mr. Delacour stepped out of the Floo into a Main Hall that looked to be three times as large as the Great Hall at Hogwarts and at least three stories high.

Harry turned from him to look around, amazed at the marble Floor, walls, and ceiling. Massive tapestries hung from their holders, stacked two high across both walls that ran lengthwise down the hall. The eight outside (four to each side) and four middle (two to each side) tapestries were royal blue, with a red rectangle as its border and a white stripe running from the top left corner to the bottom right. In the middle was a bright, gold Fleur-de-lis. The same design was imprinted in a fifty by one hundred foot section in the middle of the marble Floor.

The other tapestries held designs and pictures of French origins that were lost on Harry. He craned his neck back to look at the ceiling and found a painting of a wizard, a Veela, and a giant moving across it, in deep discussion.

He felt a hand brush against his and looked down to notice Fleur standing next to him. Before he could stop himself, Harry reached for her hand. Fleur took it quickly as she gestured towards the ceiling with her other hand.

"Those are the founding members of the Council of Magicals. It was the first magical government in France, starting at the turn of the last millennium. The council ruled until the first _Vulgaire_ French Republic. The giants sided with the _Vulgaire_ king and the wizards and Veelas sided with the republic. In 1792, the wizards and Veela participated in the _Reign of Terror _and the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was virtually forgotten. The next year, it extended to the Wizarding world. The wizards and Veelas cleared France of Giants. It is the reason the Giants hate wizards that side with common Muggles and probably why they fought for Voldemort in the last war."

Harry had stopped looking at the ceiling, taken in by the gorgeous, intelligent witch that had been holding his hand. "I had no idea things went back that far. I mean, I always thought it was strange that the giants would side with Voldemort even though they weren't Pureblood wizards."

"There's a lot of 'istory behind the wars, 'Arry. Didn't your 'Istory of Magic professor teach you that?"

"Professor Binns? The ghost? Most of us usually fell asleep in his class."

She rolled her eyes, but the effect was lost in her smile. "Then let me educate you!"

"The French wizards tried to meet and constitute a new government after the first one fell, but they were too selfish. One wizard murdered another at the third meeting of the Council of the Magical Republic in 1804. The whole council—over ninety wizards—turned their wands on each other. The Veelas tried to stop it with their magic, drawing the attention to themselves, but it only made it worse. The Veela magic was so strong that in the wizard's 'atred, they fought each other to claim domination, then turned against the Veelas, raping and killing most of them.

Since then, Veela and 'umans have never been under the same government in France. The wizards have made overtures but the _Zekānōt_ have a very long memory and oppose it. The Magical Government of old is just a memory now."

Harry looked back up at the ceiling. _Strange_, he thought, _I never enjoyed a history lesson this much from Hermione_. But an implicit moral to the lesson wasn't lost on him either. The Wizarding world in general had problems, not just Britain, and this wasn't the first time that it had led to war either.

Bu what good was that lesson for him? He really had no control over what was happening. He was just another nameless, faceless person that would barely be remembered in history when the current British war was recounted.

I'm frightfully full of cheer today, aren't I? he thought to himself.

"I have never heard of the Zekānōt. What are they?" Harry asked, hoping for a distraction.

Fleur looked down from the ceiling, seemingly lost in her own thoughts now. "'Who', not 'what'. They are the Veela Elder council. Since the Veela 'as an avian nature as well as a human nature, Veela stay in their flock. You would call it a clan, no? We flock together and the elders of their then make up the council. The flocks and the council have been stable for three millennia. The Zekānōt are the ones who decide which Veela go through the _Gegenumenou_ making them full Veela.

"What in the world is the Gegenemememum_- u._"

Fleur laughed. "Gegenumenou? The Zekānōttook control of deciding which Veelas get to become "full" Veela in—

"What?" Harry asked, stunned. "You mean you could be full Veela if someone else _just decided you should be?_" He spat out the last few words, disgusted at what he just heard. People in his homeland were killing each other over being Purebloods and here, his . . . Fleur had been rejected by her people. His anger seethed.

"It's not that simple, 'Arry. There are many Veela who are happy and don't want to go through the ceremony, though it is very seldom turned down if offered. It is a great privilege to be asked to go through the _Gegenumenou._ There are also many great things about being a full Veela."

Harry shook his head, overwhelmed at the education he was getting. "What's so good about being a full Veela compared to a part Veela?"

Fleur was quiet for a few seconds, looking at the tapestries before she began. "Think of it like this. I have my magic, which is a mix of Veela and 'uman. Every Veela is born with that. Now, if you go through the ceremony, it's like taking a potion that wakes up another part of your magic. Every Veela, down to the eighth generation, has the magic and the ability to become a full Veela if the _Zekānōt_ allows it."

"But why wouldn't they?"

"Were you at the World Cup last year, 'Arry?"

"Yes."

"What 'appened to you when the Veela started dancing?"

Harry blushed and Fleur grinned widely. "Exactly, imagine tens of thousands of full Veela. The 'uman race would end within four centuries—they would all be linked to the Veela, that's if they all didn't kill each other off fighting for a Veela's love."

"Oh."

"That's why there are usually only seven to nine thousand full Veela at any one time and around fifty flocks. The leaders become part of the _Zekānōt_.

"Flock leaders?" Harry asked, looking around trying to figure out what happened Mr. Delacour. He took some comfort that Fleur didn't seem to worry.

"The _Zekānōt_ are more than just elders. They are the flock leaders, which make them the strongest of their flock. When they become part of the _Zekānōt_, even more of the Veela magic awakens."

A nasty grin crossed her face. "You've seen me mad. If you were at the World Cup, you've seen just the beginning of an angry full Veela. Be warned, you _never_ want to see a member of the _Zekānōt_ angry."

She had Harry's full attention again. He stopped looking for her father and his curiosity got the better of him. "I guess Hermione rubbed off on me a little too much, because I really want to know why, now."

"You've seen Veela throw fire right? Now imagine a Veela that can still take to the air and hurl fireballs infused with magic that are three and four the times the size of what you saw the full Veelas throw. There are some Veela stories that say the destruction of Atlantis was caused by their king killing a flock of Veelas. The flock leader arrived to find them dead and became angry."

"I thought you said Veelas came from young women being murdered in Eastern Europe or Russia or somewhere?"

"I said that is where some of our legends come from, not where Veela originated, but enough of Veela culture and French history. 'Ave you thought about school this year?"

"Not really," Harry said. "By the way, where is your father?"

"He was met at the Floo and taken away to an emergency meeting, he should be back shortly. Come; let's go to his office.

Still hand in hand, Fleur led Harry to the elevators at the end of the hall. They took it down to the fifth Floor and exited in a room with so many wards, charms, and physical partitions that Harry started feeling claustrophobic as he walked through the center of the room to one of the three offices on the other side.

Fleur put her hand on the door and held it there for a second before it opened. "Papa has it set so that when he's in the building, Maman, Gabrielle, or I can get into his office," she explained.

Harry went in and found it somewhat spacious, with a desk about the same size as Dumbledore's at one end of the room. At the other end was a small fireplace with chairs and tables situated around it. Fleur led him to that end of the room and sat down.

"'Arry, you do not need to go to school. You can 'ire a tutor for most of your subjects. I can even tutor you in Charms and Transfiguration if you want. Beauxbatons tests earlier then Hogwarts. I already finished my Seventh Year tests and scored the highest grade possible in both subjects."

"I don't know," Harry said cautiously, the dream of him on a beach with Fleur began to dance in his thoughts. "Like I said, I haven't really thought about it. I know I need to learn, certain things"—he hoped she didn't hear the slight hesitation—"but I haven't really thought that far."

_What's the use? _He wondered as the nightmare chased the daydream away again.

The door opened and Mr. Delacour walked in. "Sorry to leave you in the Main Hall."

"Is everything okay Papa?" Fleur asked.

"No, but it's nothing we didn't already know. Anyway, you were supposed to be meeting Philippe and Anselme, but since we're late, we're all going to meet in the _Pensieve tenue chambre—_excuse me, the Pensieve holding room."

Harry and Fleur followed him out of the office and back to the elevators, which they took to the second Floor. When the doors opened, Harry saw a normal hallway with three doors on the right side, but only one door on the left side, which was the one Mr. Delacour led them to. Harry stepped into the room after Fleur and found it decorated almost to the point of being extravagant.

"They've realized that when people are comfortable, they are able to give memories with the most texture and detail," Mr. Delacour said when he noticed Harry looking around at the furniture.

"Sit down, 'Arry, let me introduce you. This is the Deputy Minister of Security—Foreign."

"Hello, Harry. It is very nice to meet you. Please call me Philippe or if that is too informal for you, Minister Philippe is fine."

"It's nice to meet you, Minister Philippe."

"And this is Anselme," Mr. Delacour continued. "Anselme is the Deputy Ministry of Security—Domestic. I believe it's almost the same position that your Madame Bones 'olds."

"Zhat ees yes," Anselme answered. "I am 'appy to meet you 'Arry. There ees much to know from you. If you are comfortable weeth naming heem Minister Philippe, name me Minister Anselme."

Harry bit his tongue before he corrected the Minister on his English. He realized just how much it must have hurt Mr. Delacour to hear him mangle French.

"It is nice to meet you too, Minister Anselme."

Fleur gave both deputy ministers a hug and then sat down on the couch with Harry, taking his hand again. Harry noticed both men fighting their own grins as they quickly looked up at Mr. Delacour.

"Alright, Harry," Minister Philippe said. "The two young ladies in the room with us are the best Integrative Memory Workers in France. Have you ever used a Pensieve before?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he answered. "These ladies are going to copy your memories, place them in a Pensieve, and view them. Then, they will synchronize them with anchors—don't asked, I have no idea what it means."

Harry laughed, as did the two young ladies.

"Once they do that, if you would be so kind, we would like you and Fleur to step into the memory with us and give us a commentary."

"Uncle Phil—Minister Philippe," Fleur corrected herself. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. What happened that night was traumatic and—"

"And they need to know," Harry cut in. "I'm not sure if you need both of us, so Fleur doesn't have to see it again, but since this has pretty much been my life I can probably give you more than enough commentary myself."

Somewhere in Harry's response, he noticed that Fleur had withdrawn her hand and crossed her arms, but he paid it no mind as the two IMW workers stepped forward and began their work of retrieving the memories.

Three hours later, the two workers stepped out of the Pensieve. While both of them had very pretty olive skin, they were currently as white as a ghost. After locking eyes with Harry for a good ten seconds, the taller one turned and spoke to the Ministers.

"The integration is finished and in excellent quality. If you need us for anything else, we'll be at our desks."

The assistant or at least she seemed like the assistant to Harry, began to leave, but the other twenty-something witch stopped in front of him. "If you ever wish to remove those memories permanently from your mind, come to me. I will clean out every one of them. I can replace them completely, or leave you the knowledge, as if you read it in a book so that you know what happened, but don't have the first 'and memory. I will not charge you for the work either."

She waved to the other worker and they both walked out of the office.

Minister Philippe glared at the retreating backs of the workers as he spoke. "Harry, I don't know what's in that Pensieve, but what you were just offered costs on the order of fifteen thousand Galleons—mainly because it is very illegal, except in the most extreme cases and then, only with ICW approval."

He faced Harry. "To offer to remove your memories in front of Anselme alone could get her arrested and she knows that. To offer it for free. . . . What I'm trying to say is, you do not have to revisit the memory."

"I don't understand, Obliviate is heard almost as much in Britain as Accio is," Harry said.

Minister Anselme shook his head, "_Non_, 'Arry, zhat not what she offered. She said 'remove' not 'Obliviate.'"

He suddenly understood. Instead of blowing up the memory, leaving bits and pieces behind like a bad dream that cannot be remembered but still felt, she would literally _remove_ the memory so he would never have to feel it, think about it, or see it again.

If only life was that easy.

"I'm sorry, 'Arry, but we are on a bit of a tight schedule," Mr. Delacour reminded him. "I think Minister Philippe needs an answer about viewing the memory."

Harry thought about it for a second and then concluded that he needed to see the fully restored memory. Maybe, if he were lucky, he'd be able to see something that would help him the next time he met Voldemort.

"Thank you sir," he said to Minister Philippe, "but if you need commentary, I guess I'm the one that can provide it the best."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur was sitting at the table in the private room of the restaurant, gazing at a menu and trying to figure out why Harry continued to resist any attempt for her to help him. She was just trying to have him not relive what had to be the worst moments of his life, or at least those that he could remember. Instead, he dove head first into it. Why?

She listened as Uncle Philippe—not her real Uncle, but a very close friend of the family—recounting the memory to the deputy head of her school. At least they were speaking in French so 'Arry didn't have to hear it again.

Shaking her head, Fleur peeked up at Harry and noticed him quickly looking down at his own menu. What was she going to do with him? Despite what she said to her mother, Fleur knew that the word she used was exactly what was beginning to happen.

She was beginning to fall in love.

But why? Did she enjoy taking care of someone? Did she like the feeling of being older and taking control in a relationship in a way other than through her Veela magic? Or was it that he presented a challenge to her?

None of those really represented love, nor did they explain what she felt.

No, this was more like . . . destiny. Fleur snorted. Destiny, like the silly fictional Veela-bonds that half of the Wizarding world reads about in trashy romance novels._ Right._

But she wondered if something like that was possible. Not a Veela bond, but rather the fates pushing them together—only to what, see her destined love die at the hands of a Dark Lord? Was that it?

Whatever it was, there was no escaping the fact that Fleur was falling in love with Harry; the way he laughed, the way she caught him looking at her at times, how he blushed, they were all things that had become so important in Fleur's life in the last two weeks—or was it since the Second Task?

Fleur decided that if she had to be honest with herself, it was probably somewhere around March that she started to fall for him.

"_Zut_," she whispered to herself.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Hello, my name is Professor Sirko."

Harry reached across the table and shook his hand before the professor introduced himself to everyone else.

Since three languages were represented now, English was spoken, as it was the only one everyone had in common. Fleur was pulled back to the conversation when she heard Harry's voice answering the professor from Durmstrang.

"Thank you Professor Sirko, but Krum was just as much a hero that night." He turned to the Deputy Head of Beauxbatons. "As was Fleur, they both battled Voldemort and his Death Eaters to save my life."

"And you battled to save their lives, eh?" Professor Sirko asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Why would a person do that?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"A person could walk away. Why go through the entire process? Why not grab a two-four and work on your Molson Muscle instead?"

Harry pulled his eyebrows together, confused. "I don't follow, sir."

"To put it bluntly, why didn't you get your ass out of there and forget about everyone else?"

Harry had to remember to keep control of his anger, but that didn't stop him from addressing the Professor in a clipped voice. "They saved my life, how in the ruddy hell could I have done that?"

"Is that all? Just tit for tat?"

Harry was quickly growing not to like him. "No! It was just . . . I don't know. The right thing to do. Why? Would you have just ran off?" Harry challenged, trying to stare the professor down.

After a tense few seconds, Professor Sirko nodded. "I like you, Harry."

"Pardon?" Harry was definitely confused now.

"I was late because I stopped off at the Government building and watched all the memories before I came here. I watched how you fought; the power, the intensity, I like what I saw; but wanted to know why you did what you did."

"Why should it matter? Harry asked."

"You will find, Harry, that intent is even more important than wand work. So when are you going back to Britain to fight him?"

Harry was dumbfounded, but Fleur came to his rescue. "Why do you think 'e would do a thing like that, Professor?"

"I don't know," he answered. "Why are you going to go back with him?"

The table grew silent, except for the Durmstrang professor chuckling under his breath. "Harry, you don't fight like that only to abandon your home and never go back." He gestured to Fleur. "And you don't fight like that to save your wizard only to let him go on his own back to the very place you had to save him from."

Now, Harry was gobsmacked, and could see that Fleur was as well.

The Professor continued. "Harry, I want you to come to Durmstrang. My apologies if this is in bad form," he said to everyone else, particularly the professor from Beauxbatons. "But I believe I have something at Durmstrang that Harry needs."

"What's that?" Harry interrupted.

"Me, Harry. I know what it's like to go back to your homeland seeking revenge. It's how I ended up as a Professor at Durmstrang."

"Pardon me," Minister Philippe cut in, "but I am _very familiar_ with your 'work' in the Ukraine—including the Dark Arts you used there. I can see why you're a professor at Durmstrang."

Conversation ceased for a few minutes as the waiter came in to take orders, but even he noticed the chilly atmosphere that seemed to settle over the table in the silence. When he'd left, the Professor nodded to Minister Philippe. "I do not deny my body of work in the Ukraine, nor the methods I used. I do however; dispute Durmstrang as a Dark Arts school.

The huffs and 'hrmphs' around the table told Harry that everyone else's opinion was about the same as his.

The professor turned to Mr. Delacour. "Pardon me for being so forward, but I understand that you are married to a half-Veela, correct?"

Sitting to Harry's right, Mr. Delacour stiffened at the question. Harry reached under his table and drew his wand. Whatever was about to happen, Mr. Delacour had opened his home for Harry—and he was Fleur's father.

"Why do you ask," Mr. Delacour said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Please, I don't mean to offend. A third of Durmstrang's students are from Bulgaria. Do you happen to remember who the Bulgarian National Quidditch team's mascots are?" Professor Sirko inquired.

"Veela," Mr. Delacour answered.

"Yes. Germany, Poland, the Ukraine, and a couple other countries in the area provide another fifty percent of the students. Each of those countries has a far better relationship with the Veela flocks than France, wouldn't you agree?"

Minister Philippe cleared his throat. "Since you have just insulted France and inquired at quite a personal level about both Monsieur Potter's future and Monsieur Delacour's wife, may I suggest you get to the point rather quickly?"

"Yes," the professor continued. "I can see how that would be wise. My point is, there has never been a documented—or even rumored—case of a Veela engaging in the Dark Arts. It is impossible for them as their magic is incompatible, correct?"

Heads around the table nodded. Harry was surprised to see Fleur's nodding as well, though now that he thought more, it did make sense that she knew.

"So explain then, how the school that has a third of its students from a country that idolizes Veela like Bulgaria, and another half filled with students that are brought up in cultures much more accepting of Veela than western Europe, can be a school of the Dark Arts?"

"That would be true," the Beauxbatons professor answered, "if the Dark Arts was about blood purity and their disgusting fallacies about those they call 'half breeds', but the Dark Arts and blood lines have nothing in common, except that the oldest of the Purebloods usually have dabbled, at least, in the Arts."

Professor Sirko shook his head. "A full quarter of the students that come from Bulgaria have some amount of Veela in them. Usually, five to seven percent of the witches are full Veela. You know as well as I do that Veela are uncomfortable around those who practice the Dark Arts. It agitates their magic. So, if the school really promoted Dark Arts, why would any Veela go there? Why would we have so many Bulgarian students?"

"But they have a reputation!" Harry practically yelled.

"Yes," the professor answered him. "A well cultivated one at that. We all know what happened at Hogwarts a couple of weeks ago. The same thing happened at Durmstrang in the forties. After Grindelwald, the Board of Governors decided that it would be a good idea to have a 'talking head'—as our last Headmaster was—so that those who wanted to know about the Dark Arts would have a place to attend and the school might be safer for being perceived as the darkest of the three major European institutions. However, what most people _don't _know is that we teach not just about the Dark Arts, and how to use a few of them, but also about the damage it does to the soul. How it destroys people and is never worth the path a person has to take to become proficient enough in them.

"No, I think you would find that Durmstrang takes a more 'practical' approach to the Dark Arts, but that practicality is all the way around, including how impractical it is for most people to try and wield them."

He turned to Harry. "You do need to know however, that I have used them. I was born in the Ukraine and immigrated to Canada many, many years ago along with a multitude of other Ukrainians. When the Soviet Union broke up, many of us returned. I stayed in Canada, not wanting to move. My parents and my much, much younger sisters moved back however. Three years ago, I received an owl that all three younger sisters were kidnapped for the sex-slave industry that the post-soviet Ukraine is known to export."

Professor Sirko took in the ministers sitting at the table. "I returned to the Ukraine and hunted down every last damned wizard that was involved. Eventually, I found my sisters, but it was too late for two of them. They were already so addicted to potions that they died while trying to recover. My youngest sister made it, but after finding out just some of what she went through and the nightmares she still has, I often wonder if she wouldn't have been better off dying like her sisters."

He looked back at Harry. "I know the desire you have to go back to your homeland and seek revenge. I know what it's like to own a blood debt and want to collect. I also know the toll it will take on your soul, Harry. A line exists that you must not cross. I can teach you that line if you come to Durmstrang."

Harry lay in bed hours later, with a whole lot more to think about.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

That next evening, Mr. Delacour threatened Harry before he went to bed.

"You will _not _spend time on the fence tomorrow. I didn't intend for you to literally spend two hours every day working on it."

Of course, the threat was delivered with a scowl covering a grin, so the next morning, Harry wasn't too worried about it, but he thought it wise to obey. That was how he found himself in his little sitting room to the side of his bedroom, reading a book when the sound of a knock on his door surprised him. Fleur was visiting her grandmother so Harry wasn't expecting any visitors

"Come in."

The door opened and to Harry's surprise, Mr. Delacour walked into the sitting room next to his bedroom. "'Arry, I'm headed into town today and wanted to know if you would like to come along."

Harry gave it a moment's thought before agreeing. "I would love to, si—um, I mean, yeah, I would love to."

Mr. Delacour chuckled. "Good, ready to leave then?"

"Not really. Could I have twenty minutes to take a quick shower and change?"

"That should be fine," Mr. Delacour thought aloud. "What book are you reading?"

Harry showed it to him. He was smart enough to study his Dark Art books at night when he knew he wouldn't be bothered.

"That's one scary Vulgaire," he said to Harry. "I read the entire autobiography the weekend I brought it home."

"Vulgaire_?_" Harry asked.

"I believe you the English phrase is 'Muggle'."

"Oh, okay, that makes sense. Yeah, he is. I had no idea there were people like this. Imagine what he could have done if he had magic?"

"We have some wizards in the French Muggle army that have gone through special forces training like that. They are a scary lot. That man you're reading about, 'owever, is in a completely different class."

Mr. Delacour told Harry he would wait for him in the large main room of the house and left. Harry put the book down, undressed, and climbed into the shower. As the hot water flowed over his body, he thought back to all he had read about the Muggle.

The guy started out as just another kid, but after joining one of the branches of the American military and going through special training, he went with a small group of similarly trained Muggles to some small country in the far-east. The things he did there, the things that man learned, were lessons that Harry needed to include in his own plans, things such as using the geography to his benefit; always doing things differently; copying those he was trying to kill, and always, always use the back door to gain the element of surprise.*

The more Harry thought about it, the more sense it made as well. Twice now, he had conjured snakes in battle. What would happen if he did it again? What if they knew that he would conjure a snake? What if they found a charm that would turn the snake or snakes back on him as soon as they were conjured?

Then there was the idea of being active rather than passive. Take the fight to them, and not waiting for it to come. Harry still couldn't believe a group of Muggles could sneak into a house full of Muggles and take one without waking anyone else up, but by the sounds of it, that's what the guy and his group did and it was very effective.

Harry shut off the shower, stepped out, and dried himself off as he continued to think about what he was reading.

Would it work for Harry? He had magic on his side so he could silence himself and whomever he was after. What would happen if Death Eaters started disappearing out of their homes in the middle of the night, never to be seen again?

Could he do that though? It's one thing to kill someone in a battle, but like that? Then again, weren't they at war already? The only difference between a battle fought which someone else started and one he began, was the fact he was able to choose the place to have it.

Dried and dressed, Harry put it behind him and went upstairs to meet Mr. Delacour, but when he got to the top of the steps, Harry froze.

"Hi, 'Arry." Gabrielle said a little shyly and blushing.

"Hi Gabrielle, are you okay now?"

"I'm getting there. You don't feel any of my magic, do you?"

"Um, no." Harry answered and blushed himself, remembering the night two weeks ago when he saw her. . . Harry blushed even more.

Gabrielle giggled. "I should apologize," she said. "You surprised me and my magic . . . exploded?"

"Ah, yeah, I guess exploded would be a good word for it."

She flashed a brilliant smile at him, still tinged with the blush in her cheeks. "Fleur and I are going to The Wizarding street and _Vulgaire_ Paris in a few days. She thinks I'll be fully in control of my magic by then, so I promise, no more explosions!"

Harry could tell she wasn't trying to flirt. Matter of fact, he could see a lot of the little Gabrielle he had rescued from the lake still. The only problem was that she also had a _very _adult body and the sweet, cute looks she gave him, were anything but sweet and cute now.

That thought alone convinced him. "Yeah, I'd love to go with the two of you."

He would make sure he had his wand ready, and any male, wizard or Muggle, that came with twenty feet of her was going to get hexed to within an inch of his life.

"So how did you end up at our house 'Arry?"

"Fleur and I, um. . . ."

Gabrielle gasped and jumped at Harry, squeezing him in a big hug. "You're Fleur's boyfriend?"

"No, well, kind of, I guess. I don't know, ask Fleur."

The laughter from the other end of the room caught Harry's attention.

Mr. Delacour addressed Gabrielle in French before asking Harry if he was ready to leave, but he couldn't get out the door without Gabrielle hugging him again and squealing loudly about the possibility of him and Fleur.

An hour later, Harry found himself sitting across an outside table having lunch with Mr. Delacour in the Muggle town of Collioure. He had to admit, the view from the terrace enabling him to look over the bay was breathtaking.

"I want to be honest with you, 'Arry."

He put down his drink, feeling the Bludger coming straight for his head.

"When you first showed up at my house, I didn't know what to think. But seeing what I did in the Pensieve Friday, and the way you've handled yourself around the house with my daughters, I am very impressed."

"Thank you."

Mr. Delacour took a long drink, obviously preparing himself for the next part of the conversation. It made Harry even more nervous.

"Professor Sirko was right, you are going back to England, aren't you?" he asked.

Harry sighed, deeply. "Yes, sir. I can't tell you why, but I have too."

"I know why you think you have to. Fleur told my wife. Don't worry, Apolline may come across a little glib at times, but it covers a very deep, very serious Veela. Your secret is safe with her. The only reason she told me is because she's worried about you."

Harry remained quiet, not knowing what to say.

"Is Fleur going back with you?"

"I'll curse her all the way back to France if she does. There's no reason for her to involve herself." Harry noticed the surprised look. "I take it you thought she would go back with me."

"I did."

"She might try. But please, Mr. Delacour, don't let her. Do everything you can to keep her here."

"Thank you, 'Arry. I do not want to see my daughter involved in a war, especially one over blood purity."

"I tried to get her to leave England before, but she kept staying around. I don't understand why, when she could come home to a place like this."

Mr. Delacour sipped from his glass before answering. "That, I think, is for you to find out for yourself."

"Then I'm doomed. I have no hope to understand witches."

"Welcome to being a wizard—or more likely, welcome to being male."

Harry grunted in amusement.

"Anyway," Mr. Delacour continued, "What I was saying was that I wasn't sure I wanted you to stay with us. I was afraid you would attract Death Eaters and I will not have my family threatened."

A ball of lead formed in Harry's stomach. "I understand, sir. If I can stay tonight, I'll find a new place tomorrow."

Mr. Delacour broke out in laughter. "'Arry, if I kicked you out of my 'ouse, do you think I'd be able to survive the wrath of two—make that three—Veela?"

The ball of lead lessened, but didn't go away.

"I guess what I'm trying to say, is that I know you have no family. I know how much the war has taken from you. Last night Apolline and I agreed that we want to offer our home to you permanently, or at least until the war is over and you are able to catch up with all your schooling and get on with your life. Also, the offer isn't contingent on your relationship with my daughter."

"I . . . thanks, I guess. I really don't"—he paused for a moment—"I'm sorry, Mr. Delacour. I can't accept your offer."

"Why not?"

"You know what happened to my parents, or the Weasleys? People around me die, Mr. Delacour. It's the reason I don't want Fleur to follow me back to England. It's why I am going to face Voldemort alone when the time comes."

"Alone? No, 'Arry. If you face him alone you will only assure that you will die alone. You _will _tell me when you are planning to face him."

"Why? So you can come across the Channel and be killed like everyone else?"

"You speak as if I have not seen war. Look back up towards my 'ouse. See the flat of that valley? October thirty-first, it will be fifteen years to the night that I watched six of my friends fall to wands held by wizards in black robes. That night, I took the lives of five Death Eaters. Fleur was four years old and they were coming for her, 'Arry; they were coming for Fleur, my wife, and all the Veelas in my wife's family that were hiding with us.

"Why, what did they do?"

Harry was shocked at the grin that spread across the older man's face. "My wife and the rest of her flock were trying to rally the Veela to support the French government against the Death Eaters. She doesn't know that I know, but that's why she was targeted. She's a hell of a woman, 'Arry, witch and Veela combined, and her daughters take after her.

"Anyway, consider the apartment downstairs yours. We'll let the current agreement continue until fall, then you're going to stop paying for the room and I don't want to hear about it, understood?"

"Yes . . . cur!" Harry said in a cheeky voice.

Mr. Delacour smiled widely. "If you're going to call me sir, I much rather you do it like that. By the way, that autobiography is a great book."

They both laughed and finished their lunch. But before they left, Mr. Delacour had a couple more surprises for Harry.

"Do you know what my job was before the last war broke out?" Mr. Delacour asked.

"No."

"I was an Apparition teacher. I asked Fleur about your magic last night and from what she told me, I think you're ready to learn how. You are going to need it when you go back."

Harry opened his mouth to thank him, but Mr. Delacour put a hand up. "There is a cost. You _will _tell me when you are going back to England and, if you need me, I will go with you."

Before Harry could argue he continued. "You have lived in my house now for two weeks, 'Arry. In that time, the only thing you have done to upset my wife is show her too much respect. You have treated Fleur honorably even though I know you are struggling in a relationship. You actually resisted Gabrielle's magic on the night we will never talk about again."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle darkly.

"For all those reasons and more we have invited you to live under our roof. That means the protection I afford my wife and daughters, I now afford to you as well. I know you are your own man, 'Arry. More so than most, in fact, but please don't let your pride get you killed. If you need me, let me know.

Harry nodded his agreement, not wanting to say anything to give away that he had just silently sworn that he would never tell any of the Delacour family when he was heading back across the Channel. He refused to allow death to visit this family as it had so many others.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Over the next week, Harry continued to work on the fence and read the books, including the Dark Arts books he had brought with in him, and fight his internal battle about Fleur. If he could just make it to the beginning of September, maybe he would go to Durmstrang. But did he want to? The answer, truthfully, was no. He wanted to stay here with Fleur.

But that was all the more reason to leave. Yet, somehow, no matter his plans nor how tentative their relationship seemed, every night he lay in bed thinking about the blond-haired, blue-eyed Veela that would not let his heart go.

The only change to Harry's routine, was an owl from Cho. Neville and Su Li were still together and doing well, though they worried about Neville. He was involving himself more and more in the war.

A few members of the Order had died already in skirmishes; no one Harry knew, though that didn't make it any better.

But it was the last lines of the letter that put a smile on Harry's face. Sirius and Charlie had decided to visit a courtly flower and maybe even get to see its potter in France the following week, if Harry thought it was a good idea.

He thought it was a great idea.

* * *

><p>*Sourced from Marchinko, Richard. "Rogue Warrior."<p> 


	11. Promises Fulfilled and Broken

.

**A Thawing Frost**

**(Beginning of March, Hogwarts)**

Fleur sat in the Great Hall, shivering from the March winds. The clinking silverware and laughing wizards faded into background noise as she thought about the previous night.

"Fleur? Did you hear what I said?" her cousin asked.

"What? Oh, I . . ." Why isn't he here yet? Both of his friends are sitting over there. Then again, what am I going to do when he does show up?

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Maybe I should ask to speak with him. She jumped at the soft touch on her hand.

A similar set of eyes caught her attention across the table. "This isn't like you—what's going on?"

"I didn't sleep much."

The other blond-haired witch raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"_Oui_," Fleur answered, and pushed her breakfast around the plate. "Lack of sleep makes mornings a little difficult."

"Difficult? I think it makes you look like you're about to—"

Fleur silenced her with a glare.

"Hmpf."

Okay, almost silenced her. A few moments later, Paige crinkled her nose again at the taste of the Pumpkin Juice.

"Why do you drink it if you don't like it?" Fleur asked.

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

What could she say? She could tell Paige how he saved Gabrielle again last night, about how this time, only Gabrielle lived; how Fleur woke up and cried, wailed for the first time in years. She could mention that she had an overwhelming need to see him, to make sure he was safe. That'd go over real well. "So anyway, what was it you were saying?" she asked Paige.

Paige slowly shook her head. "You are the most stubborn Veela I've ever met. Anyway, I'm going back to Beauxbatons next week. I need to study for final exams and there's no one here to teach advanced Veela history."

"Oh, that makes sense, I guess. Don't know why you took those courses. Grand-_mère_ could teach us everything we needed to know."

"Whatever; you do realize it means I can't help you prepare for the last task."

"It's okay, go back to France."

The owls caught Fleur's attention a few minutes later. The way they fluttered about the room and dropped packages on the table was . . . annoying. Just because people have magic, doesn't mean they can act like slobs, then wave a wand and make it all go away. It's called having respect for yourself.

"Don't you just love how the English . . ."

Fleur looked around—Where did Paige go? And how is breakfast almost over already? Why isn't he here? What if— no, it was just a dream. Had to be a dream.

Fleur continued to push the food back and forth on her plate, gazing around the Great Hall. She had to admit, there was a certain charm here. The ceiling was a true work of magic and the massive windows with its stained glass scenes were breathtaking. She allowed her eyes to continue downwards to the students that milled around. It was nice to see more than just blue fabric. Hogwarts robes provided a nice variance with the house colors sewn into the robe, even if it did clash with beautiful green eyes and—

_Zut! _It's him! The Great Hall came alive around her—sounds poured in: a few feet away someone was sawing through a slice of breakfast ham, witches were screeching and giggling at the next table and a barrage of voices assaulted her ears, but none of them could drown the sound of her heart thumping in a quickening rhythm.

Fleur tried to ignore it, as she watched the young man before her. His hair pointed in more directions than a compass, his frame had yet to fill out, his grin, when it did show up, had a strange innocence—how could he be a hero?

His eyes, the set of his shoulders, the tenseness of his jaw; he was worrying about someone.

He had worried about Gabrielle, too.

How could he not be hero? And now he was looking at her.

She smiled at him and was pleased that he smiled back.

Fleur walked out of the Great Hall and into the refreshing spring morning, welcoming the cool breeze and chattering birds.

The next time Gabrielle wrote to Fleur and asked about him, maybe she'd share the letter with him.

That's exactly what I will do.

Gabrielle sent a letter at least three times a week, and she always asked about Harry Potter.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven <strong>

**Promises: Fulfilled and Broken**

"I'm sorry, Fleur," Harry said, sitting on the edge of the couch in the smaller sitting room. "I've just had a few things running through my head lately."

"Humpf."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. What if she didn't like him?

"I mean, I like you a lot." _Why is my voice shaking? _"I just have too many things hanging over my head to think straight, I guess."

Fleur looked almost heavenly as the glow of the lights from the city made its way up the valley and through the windows of the room.

"Then I think, you should do what you need to do and not worry about anything else."

His heart sank. Did she just reject him?

"I guess so," he answered quietly.

Fleur nodded and marched out of the room. Later that night, Gabrielle found him asleep on the couch, his arms wrapped around his chest, a vice trying to keep the pieces from falling apart.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Four days later, Harry stepped away from the rock fence and looked back to the house. The four-foot wall, running almost to the patio, was fully restored on this side of the property now—or at least it would be restored when he finished this last section in a few minutes. If he pushed a little harder, the entire wall could be done by his birthday at the end of the following week, but why? Doing that would just leave him the month of August with very little to do but bang his head against a wall.

Harry shook his head at the thought and moved the wheelbarrow that held the concrete down a couple of feet and then heaved another rock on the fence, placing it just to the right of the last one, and twisting it back and forth a couple of times so it would settle into the mortar properly. He slathered another trowel full of concrete on the rocks and lifted another one to his chest. He took a step and extended his arms to place it next to the last one.

"Almost finished 'Arry?"

Harry jumped and drew his wand, dropping the stone against the wall, which knocked off three other newly set stones.

"It's just me!" Gabrielle cried, her hands in the air.

"Sorry, Gabby."

"Let me 'elp." She pointed her wand, whispered, "_Wingardium Leviosa,_" and floated the rocks back up on the wall. "Do you need to do anything before I set them down?"

Harry quickly scraped off the lower layer of rock and reapplied the cement before Gabrielle let the rocks drop. With a couple quick twists of her wand, they wiggled into place.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I was just coming down to tell you that Fleur should be home in a little while if you want to get cleaned up."

The trowel hit the bottom of the wheelbarrow rather hard.

"I think I'm going to get started on the other section of the fence today." Harry traded the trowel for a tamping tool.

"No, you're not!"

"And why is that?" he asked, pounding the cement into place.

"Because today, you're going to talk to 'er instead of faking that everything is okay."

A sharp 'snap' echoed across the small valley as the tamping tool snapped on impact.

"There's nothing wrong."

Gabrielle picked up a broken piece of metal and twirled it in the air. "Tell that to the poor tool you just broke into three pieces."

"Ruddy bad workmanship if you ask me," he mumbled, making a show of inspecting his work.

"Oh, I don't know. You've done a great job on the fence; it's your workmanship on Fleur that needs help."

He turned to face the younger girl. "And you're the authority that's going to help me?"

"Nope. I'm just the messenger telling you that you're going to end up having to talk to her today."

"I thought you said 'I'm going to,' not 'I going to end up having to'; there's a difference."

Gabrielle raised her eyebrows slightly and made a little 'o' with her lips. "Did I say all that? I'm sorry," she said in a childlike voice. "I meant that we're going to Paris today. That's all!"

She pulled her face into a pout. "Doesn't my newly adopted big brother remember promising your little sis that you'd go with us?"

"Unfortunately—"

The cheekiest smile Harry had seen in months spread across her face. "Great! And while we're on the subject, how are you and Fleur doing? I could invite my best friend to come along so the two of you could have some time to yourselves . . ."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry let the steam and hot water work together to loosen the knots in his back that had developed since he was reminded of his promise.

"Yeah, this is just what I need, a full afternoon with Fleur, as if the last week and a half wasn't bad enough."

It was easy to see where it started to go wrong. He hurt her when he cut her off as she was trying to protect him from seeing the memories at the ministry. She refused to hold his hand the rest of that day, even though she kept looking at him with those doe-like eyes. How could any set of eyes carry so much emotion? So much beauty? So much frustration that it'd make a wizard stay up half the freaking night trying to figure out what every bloody little look meant and how the hell any person could—OUCH!"

Harry looked down and noticed the two broken toes on his right foot.

_Next time I should kick something softer._

At least he had found a few healing charms in _Gebringang-pínere. _He was surprised to learn that a number of the healing charms originated as ways to cover for torture—or make someone healthy enough to begin another round. Salazar Slytherin kept this book in his personal library for what reason?

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Gabrielle knocked softly on the door. "Fleur, it's me, can I come in?"

"Sure."

She pushed the door open to find Fleur sitting in front of the mirror, watching the younger Veela as she walked into room.

"Hi, how was—" Fleur stopped. "Are you okay?"

"I guess." she answered. "I was just thinking about how much I missed you last year and now that you're working . . . I guess I just figured you'd be too tired today. . ."

Fleur put her hairbrush down. "Too tired for what?"

She sucked in a breath of air. "You forgot?"

"Forgot? Forgot what, that we're going to Paris today?"

She nodded and Fleur smiled at her. "Of course I didn't forget. Why do you think I changed into _Vulgaire_ clothes?"

"You promise?" Gabrielle asked, her eyes lighting up.

"I said we'd go, didn't I? You're my favorite sister, of course we're going."

"You're my only sister—and thanks!" She gave Fleur a big hug and made her way to the door, as she spoke again. "I'll just go make sure 'Arry is ready."

The door slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord. She turned back to her sister, noticing in particular the wand quivering in Fleur's hand.

"What do you mean by, 'Arry?" Fleur asked in a very dangerous voice.

She looked at Fleur with the same doe-in-the-headlights look that her sister had perfected. "I, um, the second time I saw him, after . . . you know, I asked him to come with us to Paris. I felt so bad about what happened that I thought I could make it up to him showing him my favorite shops and letting him relax and maybe find an English restaurant—or even an American quickie-munch place. I'm sorry Fleur. I didn't mean to ruin it for you. Please say you'll still go with me!"

Fleur sighed. "I told you I'd go, didn't I?"

Gabrielle squealed and hugged her again.

"Was that all that was bothering you? You know I wouldn't skip out on you."

It was a split-second decision, but if the opening was there. . .

"I know, I just. . ."

"Okay, out with it," Fleur demanded.

"Remember when you said something to me about being beautiful rather than just a Veela?" she asked

"That's not how I said it, but I remember. Why?"

Gabrielle walked over and sat down on the iron-framed daybed under the window. "Because I kind of understand what you meant by that, but I'm really confused by relationships with boys. So does that mean I'm not a mature Veela yet, or does that mean I'm not as smart as you, or does that mean that I'm not even really a Veela?"

Fleur crossed the room and sat next to her. "What would make you think something like that?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's just that I don't understand this Veela thing enough, but I look at Maman and Papa, and they're perfect for each other. They seem so happy. Then I look at you and 'Arry and I think you're perfect for each other—but you don't seem happy at all lately and sometimes, I almost think a little of the 'Beauxbatons Fleur' is back when the two of you are in the same room."

"Perfect for me? Why would you— skip that. What Maman and Papa have, is decades of real, true love. You can't compare that with anything."

Gabrielle wrung her hands together and hoped the next question sounded innocent. "What about you and 'Arry?"

"'ARRY AND ME? I DON'T EVEN LIKE 'IM! If he thinks he can pull away from me, be cold to me every morning, make me work all day to convince him to let me hold his hand—he's in for a big surprise!"

She let the silence linger after the outburst, gauging the right time before— "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset."

Fleur took a deep breath. "It's okay. Why don't you go let Maman know we're leaving in a few minutes?"

She was up and walking to the door before Fleur spoke again.

"You might as well make sure _he's_ ready."

"Who?" Gabrielle asked, and grinned.

Fleur narrowed her eyes.

Gabrielle opened the door and then turned back to Fleur with the same cheeky smile she had given Harry earlier. "If you don't even like him, does that mean that I—"

A Tickling Charm cut through the air and slammed into the back of the door that Gabrielle had just managed to close behind her.

"Oh, biiig siiister—did you mean to cast the charm with that much force, or maybe there's a green-eyed—"

"YOU'RE ABOUT TO FIND OUT!"

Gabrielle sprinted down the hall and through her doorway. By the time she got safely inside her room, she was giggling so hard at her own antics that she could barely stand up.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry took a deep breath, threw the powder into the fire, and called out "_Rue de la Magie_" . . . and stumbled right into Fleur's arms on the other side.

"Thanks, still haven't figured out the Floo thing yet."

"Hmph." Fleur turned around and walked out of the Floo Transport Center, leaving Harry to wonder why she insisted on dragging her hand across his chest, rather than just stepping away from him.

"Come on, 'Arry!" Gabrielle said.

Harry followed the two witches into Vulgaire Paris. Ten minutes later, they walked up _Quai Branly_ Street and Harry looked up to see the Eiffel tower.

"Wow." Harry said, "I have no idea how something like that can be built."

"Patience, maybe?" Gabrielle asked.

He thought he caught Fleur mumbling a warning to her sister. Gabrielle seemed to ignore it and grabbed a hold of their hands, pulling them farther along. "Come on, I want to show the both of you something."

They walked a little farther before cutting through the _Champ de Mars_, allowing Harry to see the tower up close. He couldn't help but stop and gaze up at it again.

"I was the same way the first time I saw it," Fleur said quietly, standing a couple of feet away from him.

Harry's stomach flipped. He grunted out an agreement and started walking in the general direction they were headed.

Great, the first time she speaks to me in two days and all I can do is grunt. Since when did I turn into Crabb or Goyle?

Gabrielle caught up to him and pointed to the left. "We're going that way."

"What's up there?" Fleur asked from behind them.

"You'll see."

Gabrielle skipped on a head, across a busy intersection and down _Rue Saint-Dominique_. After a few blocks, she led them to an American coffee shop that he had heard of before, but had never actually been to yet.

After getting their drinks, they intended to visit a few places, including the Louvre, but those plans were cut short quickly due to Gabrielle's reaction to her coffee. They made their way back to the _Champ de Mars._

Fleur laughed at Gabrielle, who was currently spinning in circles while looking upwards at the tip of the tower.

"You're going to make yourself sick, Gabby." Fleur warned, her voiced laced with humor.

"Weeeeeeee" Gabrielle answered as she spun around again, and fell to the ground with a thud.

"'Ow often 'ave you ordered a—what was that?"

"A Triple Espresso Macchiato with chocolate drizzle and sugar—once. I guess I know why Stacy made me get it decaffeinated."

"Once? As in this is your first time?" Fleur asked, her voice an octave higher than the last question.

She and Harry both laughed. They looked at each other and Harry opened his mouth to speak.

"Come on Gabrielle," Fleur said quickly. "I think it's time to give you your first Veela lesson." Fleur walked over to her sister and helped her up. "Point number one, no caffeine until your old enough to handle it."

Gabrielle giggled and wiped the grass off her clothes. After looking around, Fleur pulled out her wand, cleaned off the stains, and moved closer towards a group of people in the distance. There were a few young men in the group.

Harry followed.

"The first thing you 'ave to remember, is that the male 'uman is not so smart. Instead of telling us 'ow they feel, they either stare dumbfounded at you, or away from you."

Harry noticed some of the teenagers in the group were beginning to stare open-mouthed at the two Veela.

"What I used to do when they would stare like that, is look down my nose at them as if to say, 'You 'aven't got a chance in the world,' but since that is only true _for certain men_, there's no reason to treat everyone the same way."

She looked back over her shoulder at Harry. He knew that look well, remembering how she dealt with the male population at Hogwarts. He snorted in response and looked back up at the top of the tower that pierced the cloudless sky.

". . . Over the last few weeks, I've learned that tipping your head to acknowledge them, and then continuing as if nothing 'appened works well when you're at a distance."

"But doesn't that encourage them?" Gabrielle asked.

"Not at all. I've spent quite a bit of time around the new 'ires in Papa's office without any problems. You should come to work with me sometime; there's some good-looking ones there that we could ogle together," she said, her voice as snotty as any Slytherin princess he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Harry forced himself not to look at her. What was she doing? He already apologized, already told her he cared about her. What else did she want? Why was she trying to rub his nose in it now? She was the one that rejected him!

"Are any of them as cute as 'Arry, though?"

"No," Fleur answered. "And that's the next lesson. 'Arry may be cute, but real men are 'andsome."

Harry found his own way back to _Rue de la Magie_.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"There you are!" Fleur spat out at him through clenched teeth an hour and a half later. He was sitting at an outdoor café with ten or twelve tables strewn about, covered in simple but nice white tablecloths. Flowerboxes created a ring around the tables, sectioning the outdoor seating off from the rest of the street.

"You 'ad both of us worried. Why couldn't you be considerate enough to tell us where you were at least—"

"Considerate? Is that something else associated with 'men'? I guess I wouldn't know since I'm just a leetle boy, no?"

Fleur's wand appeared in her hand with a speed that left him very impressed, but he was ready with his as well and was in the process of casting a _Protego _Shield when Fleur spun on her heel and stomped down the street. The way people moved out of her way reminded Harry of a movie he watched one night when the Dursleys were gone, except that Fleur didn't even have to strike the ground for this particular sea to part.

"It's a good thing I didn't say what first came to mind."

Gabrielle ruffled his hair and sat down across the table from him. "She was really worried about you."

"Yeah, she sure showed it."

"The two of you are impossible." Gabrielle picked up a menu. "I was going to offer to go to an English restaurant so you could get something more like what you were used to eating."

"Thanks, but I don't think it'd be a good idea to leave now," Harry said. "Not if I wanted to live, anyway."

Gabrielle laughed as the waiter approached.

"'Ow can I 'elp. . ."

Harry's stomach turned for a second time that day. The middle-aged waiter looked dumbfounded as he stared at Gabrielle.

"Excuse me!" He said to no avail.

Then he picked up his wand.

"'Ey! What was zhat for?" The waiter asked as he rubbed his side where the light _Flipendo _Jinx hit him.

"She's thirteen years old." Harry did his best to stare down the man.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the waiter replied, then took Gabrielle's order without looking at her.

"Thank you, sir." Gabrielle said to his retreating back before asking Harry, "Did you order yet?"

"Nah. I was waiting for you two."

"Well, I'm here, so why aren't you eating? Waiting for Fleur?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in a mask of innocence.

"No!" He picked up the menu and looked through it, ordering on a whim when the waiter returned with Gabrielle's drink.

They chatted while waiting for the food. Harry found out that since she had come of age, Gabrielle's American friend was reluctant to have her over, though that was more for Gabrielle's protection. Her friend had three older brothers who were all as dumbfounded a couple of days ago when she showed up at their house as the waiter had just been.

"What about school? Are you worried about how your friends will act there?" Harry asked as the waiter set the plates on the table.

"I'll be private tutored again."

"I thought you attended Beauxbatons."

"I do."

Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. "Huh?"

"Veelas are all 'ome schooled from the first sign of their transformation to six months following it. They don't want what happened to us the other day to 'appen at school."

Harry blushed and Gabrielle roared with laughter, attracting stares from the other tables—well, attracting more stares.

"I'll get to tease you about that for the rest of our lives, no?"

He snorted. "Why does every witch I meet lately see fit to tease me?"

"It's how we flirt—I thought you knew that."

Harry was overcome by a sudden coughing fit.

"Guess you didn't know. It's true though. My Maman does it, but it's innocent with her. She's just having fun with someone she thinks is sweet. My father even does it a little with some of Fleur's girlfriends, but only when Maman is in the room."

Harry tried to picture Aunt Petunia and Piers Polkiss . . . Godric's ghost! He hoped Mr. Delacour had more Firewhisky.

"Gabrielle! I'm impressed!" a blonde witch called out from the surrounding barrier. "Just three weeks and you're already out with an older man! He's pretty good-looking as— NO!"

Harry had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as hers traced up to his scar.

"Hi Paige, come sit with us." Gabrielle said.

Paige walked around the barrier and pulled up a chair. Harry couldn't help but notice her eyes, hair, beauty, and the slight pull that emanated off her. He turned back to Gabrielle. "Let me guess—"

"Yep. A cousin too."

Harry turned back to the partial Veela. "Very nice to meet you, Paige."

"And you. So how did—Oh! Is this about you 'saving' her in the second task?"

Harry blushed again.

"No," Gabrielle said. "Me, Fleur, and 'Arry were visiting Vulgaire Paris today."

"Oh, so where's Fleur?"

"Over there someplace"—she pointed in the general direction of the large storefront down the street that was advertising Vulgaire and Wizarding clothes in the window—"she left in a huff."

"Figures. So this isn't a date then?" she asked Gabrielle.

"Nope. Disappointed?"

Paige turned to Harry and winked. "Not in the least."

His blush deepened, but before he could say anything, Paige schooled her features and a playful teenage girl turned into a very attractive but serious young woman. "I don't know if you remember 'Arry, but I was at 'Ogwarts this year too."

"You were? I don't—wait; you sat next to Cho the first night you arrived."

Her smile faltered. "Did she make it?"

"Yeah. She did. But Cedric didn't."

Tears moistened her eyes. "From what I read, neither did Krum. Thank you for getting my cousin home."

"She deserves as much of the credit as I do, probably more."

Paige gave him a benign smile. "Still, I thank you, 'Arry. I've no doubt you greatly 'elped."

She turned back to Gabrielle. "Tell Fleur I'm sorry I missed her. We just made a quick trip 'ome, so I decided to get some shopping done today. We're 'eading back to the nest tomorrow morning."

Gabrielle caught the look on Harry's face and laughed. "Don't worry, 'Arry, it's not a real nest. She just means the place where Veela families flock together during the summer for vacation."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Paige answered. "Since guys who have Veela sisters are immune to Veela magic, it's much safer for all the teenage Veela running around in skimpy swim suits."

"Wait, their immune?"

"Yeah, fathers too. Cuts down on incest, doesn't it?" Paige asked.

Both girls laughed at Harry this time. "Sorry," Paige said. "Didn't mean to make you sick while you ate." She turned to Gabrielle. "I probably won't see you much before Christmas, but I can't wait to catch up and hear all about your new experiences being a Veela—you look stunning, by the way."

"Thanks!" Gabrielle said and hugged the older girl, who kissed her on both cheeks.

Paige turned to Harry and motioned for him to stand up. As soon as he did, she put her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. "I meant what I said. I love Fleur like a sister." She leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth—and quickly back away from him, spitting on the ground. She reached for Gabrielle's drink and downed half of it.

"_Que Veela peu pute!_" she said, and a large, feral, and downright frightening grin grew.

"'Ow strong is 'is resistance?" Paige asked Gabrielle.

"'E surprised me one night and I hit him with all my Veela magic—after my physical changes were complete. 'E didn't even get out of the couch."

The grin grew larger. "Prepare yourself," she said to Harry.

Harry gripped the table and fought off the urge to rip every shred of clothing from Paige and take her right there on the table.

"Okay?" Paige asked, a few seconds later.

"What the bloody hell was that!"

"Just a special 'ello to Fleur. That's all." She hugged Harry again, this time pressing her body against his, though she stood off-center so it wasn't as intimate as it would seem.

Finished, Paige winked at Gabrielle and walked off.

Harry was still standing, unaware of his surrounds and trying figure out what had just happened when he felt a pair of hands on his cheeks. He looked down slightly to see Gabrielle standing inches away from him—

—and pulled his head down, kissing him smack on the lips, only to pull back, sputtering and spitting. She took a large sip of her drink and swished it around in her mouth before spitting it out in the large flowerpot, then downed the rest of her drink.

"Would someone please tell why the hell Veela keep kissing me and then acting as if they had just kiss the arse-end of a mountain troll?"

Guffaws erupted around the little outside diner and Harry quickly realized he was the center of attention. He sat down and glared at his dinner partner.

"I had no idea," she said to herself. "This changes everything."

"What. Changes. What!" He demanded.

"So, 'Arry. Did you enjoy kissing my sister?"

Harry sat, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, absent of thought.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"'Ow dare 'e say that to me!"

Fleur threw down the umpteenth piece of clothing she had tried and slid on her own light pink, short-sleeved blouse. She unlocked the door, gathered up the mountain of clothes, and dropped them off on the "return" cart at the entrance to the dressing room.

With a quick rasp, they were back on their hangers and in their original places.

"Of all the things to throw back in my face . . ."

"Is there anything else I can do for you, _Mademoiselle?_"

"There is nothing _you _can do for me!" She stormed to the front door of the clothing store, but stopped herself and turned back to the young man behind the counter. "Sorry. That shouldn't have been directed at you."

"It's okay. Have a good evening."

Fleur stepped out and walked back down the street towards the restaurant where she left Harry and Gabrielle, when she noticed that he was blushing furiously and most of the people sitting around them were laughing.

What has he done this time? She stopped at the flower barrier. "Ready to head 'ome?"

Harry looked up at her, his emotions playing out on his face. Fleur could almost label every one as they passed: apprehension, anger, sadness, confusion. . .

Good, now he knows how I feel.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Gabrielle asked.

A new . . . something played on Harry's face: was that hope?

"I guess I should," she said before catching herself. Fleur walked to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

"So, what did the two of you—" The air was full of pheromones. Why were they so strong? She narrowed her eyes and looked over to her little sister, then back at Harry. Their body language said it had nothing to do with Gabrielle, but the scent was too old to be caused by Fleur, she decided. So what . . . Then, a second scent wafted by Fleur and she stiffened, knuckles white as she balled her hands into fists to keep control of herself.

Gabrielle smirked. "'Arry and I were just talking. Well, really, I was asking questions and 'e sat in 'is seat petrified. Maybe you could answer?"

"I'm not in the mood to play twenty questions," she said in her mother-tongue.

"Good, then I'll only ask one," Gabrielle replied in French as well. "How did you enjoy kissing 'Arry?"

Gabrielle let loose a brilliant smile and Fleur almost made herself a single child after thirteen years.

"We never kissed," she whispered, trying desperately to keep her temper under control.

"My cute ass, you never kissed him," Gabrielle said. "Not only did you kiss him, but you marked him."

"Marked him? How do you—I swear if he tried to kiss you to get back at me, I'm going to—"

"Oh, don't go sprouting feathers, you hen."

Fleur froze, having never been dismissed by her sister before. But Gabrielle didn't stop. "If you really think he'd use me to get back at you, then you don't deserve him in the first place."

"So, tell me then. What did you do? No, wait, let me guess—the first chance you get, you stick your tongue down his throat, no?"

"Hello," the waiter interrupted, unaware of any tension since he was looking at his pad of paper, not wanting to cause any more trouble. "Can I get you anything to eat?" he asked Fleur.

Gabrielle piped up. "Anything large enough to shove in her mouth and keep her quiet should be fine."

"I'll come back in a couple of minutes if you would like," he suggested.

"That won't be necessary."

Fleur opened the menu and threw it down on the table, then chose the first thing she saw, not even reading what it was. The waiter quickly wrote it down and retreated from the line of fire.

"We're being rude to 'Arry, speaking in French in front of him."

"I don't give a damn. I want to know why you decided to kiss my—kissed this English excuse for a man."

"If you really want to know, I was confirming a suspicion. I think someone else left a message for you."

Fleur raised an eyebrow at her sister, then turned to Harry, leaned in, and sniffed. Crinkling her nose, she leaned in a little further and sniffed again.

"Who. Was. The. Veela. Whore?"

Gabrielle leaned back and picked up her newly filled glass, taking a sip before answering. "Funny, she called you the same thing."

Fleur flushed with anger. "You are going to tell me now, or I'm going to hex that so-called cute ass of yours all the way home."

"Who else do you think would put their magical scent all over someone just to play with you?"

"Paige?"

"Yep. She thanked him for getting you back to France safely and gave him a peck on the side of the lips . . . why are you turning white?"

Fleur ignored her.

Gabrielle giggled, and continued. "So then, she decided to mess with you and hit him with her Veela magic before rubbing her scent all over him. Of course, I had to find out why she spit in the bushes after kissing him and then downed half my drink. So I kissed him."

Fleur's eyes narrowed again.

"And spit half of what was left of my drink in the bushes before downing the rest of it. So, Fleur, do tell. How did you enjoy your kiss with 'Arry?"

"If it's not too much problem," Harry cut in, "I'd like to know why my name keeps coming up."

"Oh, no reason," Gabrielle answered. "It's just Veela sister-stuff."

The waiter returned and put the bowl on the table. Harry's eyes widened before he closed them and turned away, looking down the street for the rest of the meal.

Fleur glared at him for a minute, but he wasn't about to turn around, so she gave up and looked down at her plate.

There, sitting before her, was a single serving of Bouillabaisse.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Things only got worse over the next five days. Fleur tried to apologize for the way she acted when she came back from the store, but Harry just shrugged it off and said it wasn't a big deal. It was the wrong thing to say as Fleur became even more upset with Harry's emotional retreat, which, in turn, made Harry retreat even further.

He spent most of his days after that working on the wall during the afternoons and evening so he didn't have to deal with Fleur. One thing he noticed was that the rocks seemed to have become much lighter over the last month.

Sirius, Charlie, and Remus came to France the following Sunday for Harry's birthday. Tonks wanted to come, but got caught up in some Order business that necessitated her special talents.

"Tonks really was sorry; seems you made quite the impression on her," Sirius said, and made himself comfortable on the couch in the small sitting room of Harry's downstairs' apartment.

"Yeah well," Charlie began, "saving someone's life will do that. She wanted me to tell you 'thank you'. Had you and Fleur not flown into the trees that night and taken the Death Eaters by surprise, she would have been dead."

"Shame I wasn't fast enough for Mrs. Weasley though," Harry said quietly.

Charlie rested an arm on Harry's shoulder. "Tonks caught you out of the corner of her eye as you flew into the woods. We watched her memory in the Pensieve. You _couldn't _have gone any faster. How the hell did you avoid the trees?"

Harry walked over to the corner of his room and picked up his broom. "I didn't."

A low whistle escaped Remus's lips. "Do you know the sheer force it takes to do this kind of damage to the stirrups of a Firebolt?"

Charlie chuckled. "You're going to Pensieve that flight for me Harry."

"As long as I don't have to see it again, you can have it."

The three adults looked at each other and the older two walked out of the room.

"Harry, I wanted to talk to you for a minute alone."

He sat down in the large black club chair and waived for Charlie to take Sirius's spot on the low-slung couch.

"You barely knew me and Bill, but you made a good impression on us last summer, probably the same one you made on the rest of my family. I've been talking with Sirius and Remus about what will happen to you after the war and . . ."

Harry watched him closely, not sure he liked where this was going.

". . . I don't know if you'd be comfortable with it, but I'll probably head back to Romania after everything is finished and I've offered to let the two of them live in the Burrow. You're welcome to it as well."

Harry nodded. He didn't want to think about staying there with all the memories, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about it. He'd be dead a few moments after the war was over anyway.

"I also wanted your permission to ward the Burrow to accept you as the owner if I'm killed. I know it's not much, but—"

"Give it to Sirius."

"He already has a place."

"Then Remus. He doesn't have a place of his own."

"Well that's a bit buggered, you see. Since he suffers from Lycanthropy, the laws won't allow him an inheritance."

"But if we win, then the laws can change."

"Sorry, Harry, but those laws were put into place a century ago."

Harry chuckled darkly. A century ago? What, exactly, was the difference between Death Eaters and the rest of the wizards?

"What happens if I don't make it?"

"Then we give it to one of my relatives, but they don't really care about the Burrow, not like you do. It would mean a lot to me and I know it's something my mum and dad would've wanted."

"I guess it's okay then, but I really don't think I'd want to live there. Too many memories."

The slow nod and sigh reminded him that Charlie had a lot more emotions invested there than he ever did or would. It was time to change the subject. "So how are you and Tonks doing?"

Charlie grinned. "It's about the only good thing to come out of this war. Of course, the war is just too big for us to take on a serious relationship right now."

"But after?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Charlie answered, "if we both make it, maybe I won't be going to Romania right away after all. It doesn't matter though as far as your concerned, Sirius and Remus would still be at the Burrow. I'd want to start something new with her somewhere else."

Harry's lip pulled up. "Not serious? Sounds like you've been doing a little planning."

Charlie cocked an eyebrow back at him. "Getting cheeky are we? Just remember, I can outrun you, and I _am_ faster than you on a broom, though not by much from what I saw."

"I don't know about that," Harry said. "But I hope it happens."

"What, Tonks and me together after the war, or me chasing you on a broom?"

"Both."

Charlie grinned widely. "Any time you want to race, just let me know."

They made their way upstairs a few minutes later to rejoin Sirius and Remus, who were being both charmed and entertained by Gabrielle's recounting of Harry's introduction to Paige.

"Hi, big brother!" she called out when Harry entered the smaller sitting room next to the kitchen.

Harry stopped mid-step.

"You know," Sirius began, "I don't think I've heard so much mischievous delight in just three words since. . ."

"The three of us?" Remus asked.

"No, she even outmatches Lily. She's almost to the level of—"

"Oh bloody hell, no! _That _lovely witch was the only Prefect that could make you and James toe the line the last couple of years."

"Yeah, another hell of a witch cut down too soon."

A moment of silence passed before Sirius lightened the mood. "So, Harry, I hear you're a Veela magnet."

"It's good to see he can still blush," Remus said.

"He does it often; you should have seen him blush the first two times he saw me here," Gabrielle said.

"Just what have you been doing while you've been in France?" Charlie asked him.

Mrs. Delacour happened to walk into the room just then and answered for Harry. "Watching my thirteen year old daughter run naked down the hall."

Gabrielle, to Harry's relief, turned red as well.

The Delacour matriarch told them the story while they waited for dinner. Fleur and her father arrived home from the Ministry and joined them. After the meal, they spent the evening catching up.

"How's Neville doing?" Harry asked three hours later.

"Not so well." Remus said.

Harry could tell they had wanted to avoid the subject.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"He and Su Li were visiting his parents in St. Mungo's when a wave of patients came in from another Death Eater attack, but this time the Death Eaters weren't happy with just sending them to the hospital, so they came looking for them. A battle ensued." Sirius explained.

Harry was surprised when he felt a hand slip into his. He looked over to notice Fleur had moved next to him.

"Bellatrix was with them and found Neville, Su Li, and his parents."

Harry felt his heart race. Blood drained from his face, leaving him pasty white. He forgot about everything else. If Neville were dead, Harry would demand they take him with them back to England tonight. His revenge would begin immediately.

"She killed both of Neville's parents. Neville managed to trick Bellatrix and get him and Su Li out of the ward. But as they ran down the hall, she hit Su Li in the back with the killing curse."

Harry stepped away from Fleur. "Why the hell would she do that? What is wrong with that bitch? She needs to be sent into madness via the _Cruciatus_ Curse, and then killed—slowly!"

"Harry!" Mrs. Delacour said; her hand over her mouth.

He turned to her. "She and three others used that curse to put Neville's parents in the ruddy hospital in the first place. For twelve hours they suffered while that bint squealed with bloody delight." Harry took a breath. "Bellatrix _will_ die for what she did."

It took five minutes to calm the resulting commotion.

"'Arry, I want to know what you're planning," Mr. Delacour said. He raised his hand before Harry could respond. "I need to know if I need to take a leave of absence to join you."

The room erupted in a cacophony of sound again.

"SILENCE!"

Mr. Delacour raising his voice seemed to be a very rare occurrence. A Veela feather hitting the Floor would have echoed through the house.

"If they are willing to murder people lying in hospital beds—what's going to happen when they cross _le Manche_? If I must kill again, I damn well prefer to do it on foreign soil, than at my back door like last time."

"_Mon Amour_, 'Arry turns fifteen years old tomorrow. He's too young to run off to war."

"With all due respect, ma'am," Sirius interrupted. "Harry's been in this war since he was a year old. He's been in more battles and faced Voldemort more times than our most experienced fighters. I don't want him in England either, but I am not foolish enough to think he's too young."

"There's no need to worry," Harry said into the silence that followed Sirius's declaration. "I'm not going back yet, nor will I kill Bellatrix. She's Neville's bitch to spay."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur lay in bed that night staring up at the ceiling.

Enough is enough. Harry is going to lose himself if he doesn't have an anchor. I have to be that anchor. After his party tomorrow, I'll go down to his room and we'll straighten everything out.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The next day, Harry woke up to the three adult men standing over him.

"I say we use a Levitation charm and dump him, in his boxers, on the dining room table."

"Not bad, Remus. Of course, there's nothing wrong with an _Aguamenti _spell right in bed. I even warned him about it back at the Burrow."

Harry didn't even bother raising his head from the pillow. "Do it and you'll find yourself lying next to Bellatrix by the time it's all over."

"Little blighter really is getting cheeky," Charlie said as he grabbed a hold of the sheets at the bottom of the bed and yanked.

Remus levitated him three feet off the bed and Sirius hit him with a spout of water.

"Wake up Harry! It's your birthday!" they all yelled.

Remus stopped the spell and Harry fell back to the bed. But as he hit the mattress, he reached under his pillow and grabbed his wand. The mattress sprung him back up in the air and Harry spun around, hitting Sirius with a Jelly-legs Jinx. As he continued to spin, Charlie, at the end of the bed, was hit with a stunner.

Harry's wand flew out of his hand and he was drenched by an _Aguamenti _Spell by Remus.

"All right, all right, I give!" Harry said, trying to get away from the stream of water.

"You get an 'O' for speed, accuracy, and quick thinking. But strategy has to be a 'D' at most.

Below the mattress, Harry heard his godfather guffawing. "Yeah, but he did get two of the three of us after we had him suspended in mid-air."

Remus pointed his wand at the floor beyond the end of the bed and cast a _Rennervate_ Spell at Charlie.

"Thanks." Charlie stood back up and chuckled. "I didn't even see it coming."

"Well, now that I'm up I might as well get a shower." Harry got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

"Wait a second. What happened to you?" Sirius asked. "A month ago you were still a skinny kid. Now look at you."

Harry turned around and looked in the mirror, and figured out why the rocks felt much lighter now. He wasn't bulky, but he was very well-defined, to say the least.

Harry shrugged. "I refused to live here for free, so Mr. Delacour had me rebuild the rock fence out back and I decided to do it without magic."

"I can tell."

"You know," Charlie said. "I'd do the same if I was his age, especially with all the pretty young women around here."

Harry rolled his eyes, grabbed a pair of clean knickers from the drawer, and disappeared into the bathroom for a shower. Twenty minutes later, he came out to find his trunk sitting on his bed.

"I thought you might be missing it," Sirius said, leaning against the doorframe.

"Thanks." Harry opened the trunk and dug into it, pulling out one of Dudley's old shirts that had been passed down to him the summer before he began attending Hogwarts. He quickly dried off and pulled the shirt over his head, only to look down in consternation as something was constricting around his chest.

"What the . . ."

Sirius chuckled. "Looks like you grew a little more than you thought. I think you should try another shirt."

Harry had to settle on one of his new shirts. He cast a dirty look at the pile of shirts sitting next to his trunk. "How could I have grown out of half my shirts in a month?"

"Where they already small on you?"

"No, they were just beginning to fit me."

Sirius nodded. "Just finished your Fourth Year, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Your father came back to school for his Fifth Year three inches taller and probably ten or so pounds heavier. Even the clothes he bought at the beginning of the summer didn't fit. Add to that, the work you've done with those rocks and the fact you're probably being fed well here"—he gestured to the pile of clothes—"and you get this."

Sirius sat down on the edge of the bed. "So what's going on with you and Fleur?"

"Nothing much," Harry answered. He began filling his trunk with the new clothes he had bought over the last month.

"That's not what I hear."

"Then why ask?"

Sirius grabbed a shirt from Harry and slapped his hand away. "You've relied on too many house-elves to fold your clothes. Watch me."

He folded the shirt slowly. "I ask, because I want to know what's happening in your head."

"You mean except for the Horcrux that makes anything I do, except prepare to kill as many Death Eaters as possible before I die, not worth it?"

"Yep, that's exactly what I mean," Sirius answered, straightening the wrinkles before he folded the shirt again.

"In that case, nothing. I finally gave in and decided that despite everything, I wanted to be with Fleur, only to find out that she basically hates me and still thinks of me a little boy."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sirius said, laying the neatly folded shirt in the trunk. "Don't give up so soon though. Remember, your mother hated your father for years before they started dating. Something tells me it'll be a lot easier with Fleur."

"Doubt it. Personally, I think killing Voldemort is going to be easier than trying to date Fleur."

Sirius let out another chuckle. "And her little sister? She's a right handful, that one. Any thoughts about her?"

"No. I can only see her as a little sister as well, but I'm starting to feel guilty about that."

Finished folding the clothes, Sirius floated Harry's trunk off his bed over to the side of the room.

"Why? Do you think she likes you?"

"No, it's more, well . . . it's like I feel guilty for cheating on Hermione. She was a sister to me and now I'm replacing her."

Sirius sat back down on the bed. "Do you treat her the same way you did Hermione?"

"I wasn't nearly as protective of Hermione. I always figured she knew more curses than me and it was usually Ron that took the 'protective' roll."

"Do you still think about Hermione?"

"All the time, and Ron, and Fred and George, and Ginny, and all the rest of them."

"I could ask you questions all day Harry, but you haven't replaced Hermione. Jacque told me how they have decided to take you in to their home, and it was a damn nice thing for them to do. After saving Gabrielle in the second task—even though she wasn't in danger—and being taken-in by her parents, it's normal to look at her as a little sister."

"So I should look at Fleur like a big sister?" Harry asked, his voice sarcastic.

"That's up to you—whatever you enjoy, you know? Though not even James was that kinky."

"I didn't need to hear that." Harry said, his face screwed up in a look of disgust.

Sirius chuckled again as he stood up and walked to the door. "It's almost time to go upstairs. Unless you want Fleur to give you a birthday shag, I'd suggest you put on a something more than your boxers before you come upstairs.

Harry threw one of his old shirts at him, but he turned serious a moment later. "Thanks, Sirius. I've needed someone to talk to."

"It's what I'm here for. Oh, I have something else for you."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring on a chain. "I think you left it at the Burrow."

Harry didn't notice when Sirius stepped out of the room. He was still too focused on the ring in his hand. He tried to slide it on his finger, but it was still too loose, so he slipped it around his neck on the chain.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry spent the morning working on the fence again, while Sirius, Remus, and Charlie tried to make him drop the stones on his feet by laughing too hard. Gabrielle spent most of the morning with them too, and was beat red from the humor.

Fleur came home from the ministry around lunchtime, and spent the early part of the afternoon with Remus and Charlie, catching up on Order business and making plans for contacting them when she and Harry went back to England.

Harry and Sirius spent the afternoon at the very end of the valley.

"Are you sure no one can see the spells, Sirius?"

"Absolutely. You're forgetting the family I come from. This ward blocks everything but the underage trace. No one will see it unless they come down here and enter the ward. Now, show me what you've learned."

"Duel? Are you . . . never mind."

"You weren't going to just ask me if I was serious, were you?"

"Oh belt up."

Sirius stripped off his shirt and limbered up a bit. "Normally, you won't have time to get ready, but there's no way I'm dueling under this sun with a robe and dark shirt on."

"Are you sure it's safe? I mean, what if I let loose something that I shouldn't?"

"Don't worry." He gestured around him. "These are dueling wards. It's one of the reasons no one else can see the spells. The wards also control the power of the spells you throw. A stunner will still stun, a cutting curse will still cut, but the wards greatly limit their effects so that no spell cast in here is dangerous. Now let's duel."

Harry nodded, and remembered what he'd read in the Muggle autobiography. Without another word, he shot a flash of light from his wand, blinding his godfather for an instant and Apparated behind him. Sirius shook his head and opened his eyes again, pointing his wand to where Harry should have been. Harry put his wand in Sirius's back and whispered the spell for a Jelly-Legs Jinx.

"When the hell did you learn how to Apparate?" Sirius asked, lying flat on his back.

"Turns out, Mr. Delacour started his career at the French Ministry teaching Apparation."

Harry heard Sirius swearing under his breath, then he heard the familiar squelching noise that told him anti-Apparition wards had just been cast.

He offered Sirius a hand up. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

"Sorry my left nut, Harry. _Never _be sorry for catching your enemy off guard. It's the best way to make sure you stay alive. Now step back and duel."

Harry got back to his side and turned around—and ducked. A red curse grazed his head. A second, green looking curse was already headed towards his midsection. Harry put up a _Protego _Shield_, _but the Killing Curse cut right though it and took Harry in the midsection. He doubled over and fell to the ground, gasping for breath.

"Bloody hell! What was that?"

"The Killing Curse. You should recognize it by now. You've cast it enough."

"What? You just . . . how am I alive?"

"The wards, remember what I said? We're in a specially made dueling ward. It moderates every spell so that they won't permanently injure someone. You need to get used to seeing that spell and using your surrounds to block it. It's being cast with abandon across the Channel now."

Harry got up to his knees. "I always thought it took a lot out of you to cast that spell."

"It does, but magical strength and stamina is based on the same concept as physical strength and stamina." He pointed at the rock fence. "I imagine those rocks were pretty heavy at the beginning of summer."

Harry nodded.

"And now?"

"Not so much."

"You saw the reason in the mirror. Our magic reacts the same way. The more you use it and work it out, the stronger it gets. That's why wizards get better and better with age if they keep at it. Magic isn't hindered by getting old."

Harry pushed himself back up to his feet and took a few more breaths as Sirius looked farther out over the city below them, and the ocean beyond that. "I could really get used to living in a place like this. Maybe after the war, I'll buy something around here."

"Only if you live through this duel," Harry challenged.

"Raise your wand, boy!"

Curses of every color streaked out from both wands. They battled over the next half-hour, with Harry more often than not finding himself lying on the ground.

Sirius however, seemed to be having fun. He twisted his wand and let loose a series of curses that arced towards Harry, who ended up jumping out of the way. He faced his godfather again, and barely sidestepped a murky, gray colored curse.

_I've about had enough of this crap!_

He reached deep into his newfound knowledge and pulled out an old charm/curse combination that was a little dark and had fallen out of fashion.

He cast a charm and a curse on his left hand, and Sirius took the opportunity to throw another spell at him. Harry stepped around it and cast a three-point Cutting Curse, essentially throwing three distinct curses, trailing each other at a downward angle, towards Sirius, who danced to Harry's left, just like he wanted. Harry flexed his left hand, activating the charm, which threw off the curse that he had put on it.

A bright yellow light shot from his hand, directly into the Sirius's stomach as he was still focused on the passing blue curses. Sirius went down in a heap and vomited his lunch all over the ground.

"I've been around a long time Harry," Sirius said few minutes later as he washed his mouth out with water. "I've never seen that combination, or a yellow curse like that. What was it?"

"If we weren't in wards, you would have just puked out your guts, literally."

Sirius whipped his wand around in the air and the squelching noise ripped up the lower part of the valley, taking the wards down.

"Had enough?" Harry asked.

"I've seen more than enough." Sirius said, staring him down.

"You're peeved at me?"

"What the hell do you think? My best friend's son, _my godson,_ is casting dark curses. You're damn right I'm miffed."

Harry sat down on the nearest bench before his knees gave out. He'd never seen his godfather like this, not towards him. "But—but you didn't have a problem with me when I used the _Cruciatus _Curse on Voldemort."

"No, I didn't, because you didn't PRACTICE IT before hand. It was a reflex."

"Yeah? What about the Killing Curse you threw at me at the start of practice?" Harry practically yelled.

"The Killing Curse was added to the list of Dark Arts because it is damn near impossible to stop unless you are good at levitating objects into its path. It doesn't cause pain. Can you say the same about the curse you cast? What kind of pain would that cause?"

"For a Death Eater? Not enough."

Harry had never seen Sirius's eyes burn the way they did now. It made him uncomfortable that they never left him either.

Finally, he spoke. "You want to dance with the Dark Arts? Just remember, ye who dances, shall get kissed. Get back to your position."

Another squelching noise rolled back down the valley and dueling wards went back up.

"You are not going to enjoy this," Sirius warned. He flicked his wand once and a wave of noise rushed over Harry.

He found himself lying on the ground, the world spinning around him.

"Had that been the real world, both your eardrums and inner ear would have been destroyed. You would be left with complete vertigo the rest of your life, and deaf on top of it. Now get up!"

"You effing hypocrite! How long have you practiced the Dark Arts?" He got back up to his feet and raised his wand, sending a liquefying curse at Sirius, straight out of _Gebringang-Pínere_. But it was the wrong choice.

Sirius recognized the curse and for the first time in Harry's life, he saw his godfather truly angry. Then he saw a rainbow of colors.

**~ . ~ . ~ **

"Where am I?" Harry asked.

Remus moistened a towel and laid it on his head.

"You're on your bed. Do you know where your bed is?"

"Yeah, in the Delacour basement. Where's Sirius?"

"He's right here," Remus said.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Sirius asked.

"Like I got railroaded by the Hogwarts Express. I swear that spell felt like my entire body was being ripped apart at the joints, about the same time a weight was crushing my chest. What was that?"

"A Dark spell on par with the one you tossed at me. The only difference is, I can make them work much better than you can."

Harry glared at his godfather. "Since when have you been a Dark Wizard?"

"I was born one, remember? But you're being a little hypocritical, I think. After all, my father taught my brother and me most of those curses growing up. Just because I _choose _not to use them, doesn't mean I don't remember them. The difference between you and me, however, is that you've chosen to learn dark spells so that you can use them."

"It's different," Harry protested.

"Different? This is going to be rich. How are your Dark Spells different from anyone else's? And before you answer, remember Grindelwald thought the same thing half a century ago."

"It's different because of what I have in my head, what it's going to take for me to get rid of it, and who I plan on taking with me when I do."

Remus put his hand on Harry's shoulder as he sat on his bed. "We told you not to think that way. We'll find a different way out of this."

"But I have to face Voldemort. So either I become strong enough to kill him, and then take my own life, or I get killed by him, and someone else finishes off Voldemort. Either way, I die, so why not learn enough to shove the Dark Arts right back up their collective arse?"

"And what happens if you change your mind?" Sirius asked. "What happens if you become the next Dark Lord? With the power you're throwing around and the pain and hatred you have, you have to know you're flirting with that possibility."

"I've already taken care of it."

"How's that?" Sirius asked again.

"I made an oath with someone. If I become a Dark Lord, he'll kill me. If he becomes one, I'll kill him."

"You think it's that easy?" Charlie asked from the other side of the bed.

"Yeah. It's what friends do."

"Who?" Sirius wanted to know.

"Neville," Remus whispered.

"Harry," Sirius began, "I'm about to tell you something I've never told anyone else. I am also the only one out of the six of us that knew about it.

"That prophecy about you—it could have been either you or Neville. Voldemort chose to make it about you by going after you instead of him. I just figured it out a week or two ago after piecing everything together."

"And?" Harry asked, not sure what this had to do with the topic of Dark Arts and Dark Lords.

"And now you and Neville are both being consumed by the very Darkness you're trying to destroy," Sirius answered. "Your parents and Neville's parents made great sacrifices for you two, and now both of you are throwing that away."

"My father didn't die fighting the Dark Arts. He died fighting a half-blooded maniac and Pureblood idiots who followed him."

"Both of your parents died because someone was using very dark magic to push their agenda. There's no way to argue around it Harry. Look, I know we talked about this at the Burrow, and as much as I didn't like the idea of you researching any kind of Dark Arts, I understood what you were saying. But you have to know where the line is; you have to know what is too much."

_The Line. "You have to know where the line is." Damn! _

"Um, what if I had someone offer to teach me where the line is?" Harry asked.

Sirius backed up and raised his hands, palms out. "No, no, no. I am _not _teaching my godson about the Dark Arts. I don't know where that line is because I have never used them myself, nor am I planning on it."

"I wasn't talking about you."

Sirius lowered his arms. "Jacque?"

"Nope. Professor Sirko."

"A professor?" Remus interrupted. "I didn't think Beauxbatons would employ anyone that came close to having that type of knowledge."

"They wouldn't," Charlie said, gazing hard at Harry. "We did a little more than just raising dragons in Romania. Professor Sirko is the Dark Arts professor at Durmstrang."

"There is no way in hell you're going there," Sirius said. "You might as well go right to Voldemort and offer him your own wand to kill you. It'd amount to the same thing."

"No, it wouldn't," Harry argued, and spent the next twenty minutes explaining to the others in the room what Professor Sirko had shared over lunch. Halfway through, Charlie went upstairs and brought down Mr. Delacour, who confirmed what Harry had said.

"I still don't like it," Sirius said. "But you may be right. I'll have to find out where it is and spend some more time as Padfoot. I'm not leaving you there alone."

Harry tried to argue with him, but Mr. Delacour raised his hand to silence him. "Sirius, you know as well as I do that it's almost impossible to find on your own and even if you did, it's probably in a place quite inhospitable for a single person to survive. On the other hand, since Harry is living here and by virtue of my position at the French Ministry, I could get up to see him at least once a month, maybe even every two weeks or so. How much did you see him last year?"

"You have a point," Sirius agreed after thinking about it. "Harry?"

"I'm still not sure if I'm going or not. It was just a suggestion."

"But if you do go, are you comfortable with Mr. Delacour looking in on you?"

"Absolutely," Harry answered without hesitation.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

That evening after dinner and Harry's birthday cake, Sirius, Remus, and Charlie took a Portkey back to England. The rest of the family settled in for a nice evening, when the subject of Fleur's afternoon with Charlie and Remus came up.

Fleur gave a few vague answers.

Harry decided to clarify.

Fleur followed Harry downstairs to his apartment, barely getting the door closed and a Privacy Charm cast before she exploded.

"YOU 'AD NO RIGHT!"

"Your father has every right in the world to know that you joined the Order."

"And why do you think that is for you to decide?"

"Why? You are seriously asking me why? It's the blasted ORDER, Fleur. Out of the forty or so members the first time around; how many were alive when it was over, huh? Five? Ten?"

"So what? My job is to be a relay between them and you. It is not to go out and track Death Eaters or battle them."

"Oh, I'm sure that'll stop them from coming for you, right? Just like it stopped them from coming to the Burrow?"

Fleur stood in silence, rubbing her temples. Harry could see that she was physically trembling.

"Why do you care?" he asked.

"Why? Because . . . because . . ." She paused. "I l—"

"THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT! You have no idea. You just felt obligated to take care of me, didn't you? Well guess what, you don't have to do that anymore—I'm leaving for Durmstrang as soon as I can!"

"WHAT!"

"Hey, I have an idea. Maybe I'll leave a little of the fence unfinished and you can invite some of the 'men' you enjoy watching so much from the ministry over to finish it."

Fleur's eyes flared and her face elongated for a good five seconds before shifting back into its human form. She looked at him in the exact same way she did the night she found out he was going to be the fourth participant in the Tri-wizard tournament.

"Yes, maybe I should. It seems that I've spent too much time around a leetle boy."

So much for the daydream; hello nightmare.

Fleur left the room, but Harry called out to her retreating back, "At least now you understand I'm no effing Hero!"

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The next few days were unbearable. Dinners were especially tense affairs. Harry or Fleur would arrive late for the meal, and the other would leave early—until Fleur began spending more and more time at the Ministry and going out with friends to escape the meal entirely.

The following Saturday, Harry was in the house alone. Mr. Delacour had to go into work for a few hours and everyone else had gone into the city.

He heard a thumping noise on the window of his bedroom and pulled the curtains back, looking up to see an owl with a letter tied around its leg standing on the ground.

Harry went upstairs and out the back door, stopping on the way to get some owl treats.

"Here, you go," he said, after taking the letter. "Do I need to reply to this?"

The owl made itself comfortable in response. Harry pulled up a chair and sat down to read the letter.

**~ . ~ . ~**

_Harry:_

_I am pleased to find that you want to attend Durmstrang this year. My expectation is that you are not worried as much about tests and grades as you are defeating a certain Dark Lord. For that reason, I am inviting you to begin your training next Friday. _

_We will spend the first three weeks assessing you and trying to jump at least a year in your education, though that is a tall order. We will, however, have you at the level of a Seventh year by the end of October and begin learning advanced magic thereafter, so be prepared to work with very little downtime, as we are basically cramming a year's worth of education into each of the first three months._

_I have asked a few people to help with your training. They will work primarily with your basic spells and charms the first couple of months. You will stay in one of the student dorms with the Seventh Years, since you will be at the same magical level soon enough, and for another reason that I will not go into now. _

_This letter is charmed as a Portkey. It will activate at 1:45 pm, next Friday. I will meet you when you arrive._

_I look forward to working with you. _

_Professor Sirko._

_P.S. Please send a reply to let me know that these arrangements work for you. Also, Mr. Delacour is welcomed to visit at anytime, provided he is patient with our schedule. We will not break your training for visitors, especially between now and the beginning of September. There is too little time to do so._

_**~ . ~ . ~**_

Harry quickly scribbled off a reply and sent the owl on its way, then leaned back in the chair. He'd miss this view, this house, and the Delacours, but at least he wouldn't constantly have his heart torn apart by the snotty looks and cold shoulder he was getting from Fleur anymore.


	12. Welcome to Durmstrang

.

**Chapter Twelve**

**Welcome to Durmstrang**

"Don't look at me like that!"

Harry snatched another broken ink bottle from the bottom of his trunk and launched it at the rubbish bin. "I know what I'm doing."

In the silence that followed, he removed three more ink bottles (each of them flying through the air faster than the previous one), five broken quills, (they weren't very good for throwing, unfortunately), some of Hagrid's candy that accumulated in a corner of the trunk, and a pair of socks he had intended on giving to Dobby.

Finished cleaning it out, he began to pack—if cramming everything a person owned into a trunk haphazardly could be called packing—and ignored the pair of eyes boring in on the back of his head, until it was accompanied by an irritating clicking sound.

"What now?" he demanded, not bothering to turn around.

Nope, that tone definitely wasn't the right one. There was an explosion of feathers and Harry was smacked upside the head once, twice, three times.

"What in the name of Salazar's soggy—"

Another smack to the head cut him off.

"What's wrong with you!" he finally yelled at his owl.

Hedwig flew back into her cage on the dresser and pulled the door shut with her beak, turning her back to Harry.

"Oh come on, don't you start with me too. It's bad enough as it is."

Hedwig's body remained motionless, but her head slowly rotated a full one hundred eighty degrees, until she could glare at him as if he was her next meal.

"That's downright creepy," Harry said, as he piled the last of his books into the trunk. He closed the lid and moved it off his bed.

"You know I told her, don't you?" he asked the owl. "She said to go on with my life; 'Do whatever I needed to,' as if she couldn't be bothered - probably never was."

There was another quick burst of hooting and feathers.

"OUCH! Bloody hell, Hedwig! Knock it off."

Hedwig gave him another hard nip on the ear, flew around the room once, shot past Harry (nipping him again on the top of the head), and right into her cage with such force the blanket fell down over it, effectively cutting off conversation.

Harry rubbed his head and glared at the covered owl's cage. "What's gotten into you?" he demanded.

The thin sound of a cage door hitting its latch cut through the blanket.

Harry rolled his eyes and looked at his watch. It was lunchtime - and a little over an hour before he had to leave. With a deep breath, he decided to venture upstairs. Fleur would still be at the ministry, which was good since he hadn't told her he was leaving today—actually, he hadn't told anyone, yet.

This was not going to be a fun lunch.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"There's no reason!" Gabrielle stabbed a piece of pheasant with her fork and shoved it into her mouth.

Harry figured he was on too thin of ice to ask about eating something out of her own biological classification.

"Tell him, Maman_!_"

"'Arry is making the decision 'e thinks best. We need to respect it, even if we disagree."

There's a ringing endorsement, "The decision he thinks . . ."

"But 'e's wrong!" For the second time in an hour, Harry distinctly felt a set of avian eyes boring into him as Gabrielle continued. "You know why 'e's going to Durmstrang. 'E's learning how to go get himself killed on that stupid island."

"GABRIELLE!" Mrs. Delacour snapped.

"What? It's true. Ask 'im."

Mrs. Delacour put her hand on top of Gabrielle's, her voice resigned as if she didn't want to believe what she was actually saying. "I don't want 'Arry going either, but if 'e must fight, then 'e needs to learn as much as possible so 'e stay can alive. that also means that we support 'im"—Mrs. Delacour's voice turned authoritative—"do you understand me, Gabrielle?"

"Sure, but I'm not the daughter that needs to hear that, no?"

What is it with cheeky birds this morning? He fought off a smirk and finished the piece of bread he was nibbling on. "Gabby, you know it's best if I leave."

"Oh? I do?"

Harry shook his head at the petulant Veela. "Come on, you've felt the tension every time Fleur and I'm in the same room."

"Yeah," she said. "It's so thick a Veela could taste it on your lips."

"GABRIELLE AIMÉE DELACOUR!" The silverware jumped two inches off the table and Gabrielle off her chair by four.

She reached down and massaged her left knee and shin. "Maman!That hurt!_"_

"Good. Now behave. I'm sure this is tough enough for 'Arry as it is."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Do you 'ave what you need, 'Arry?" Mrs. Delacour asked an hour later.

Harry pulled his eyes away from the jagged mountain range that sat to the west of the Delacour home. "I think so. Thanks again for everything."

"There's no need to thank us. Just remember to make it back here before December fifteenth. We have our annual Christmas party that evening and most of our family and friends will be around. I want you to meet them."

"I don't know when Christmas hols begin, but I'll try."

"Good," Gabrielle said, "Maybe I won't get bored this year. Don't worry about being late; the real fun doesn't start 'til about two in the morning."

"Real fun?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's when the Veela get drunk and start acting stupid."

"That is _not _what 'appens at my Christmas parties." Mrs. Delacour corrected her daughter.

"You're not up at two a.m. with Fleur and our cousins, are you Maman?"

Harry laughed. "I'll try to be back by two, then." He pulled out the letter that doubled as a Portkey and dug out his wand from his other pocket. A lump rose in his throat as he realized how much he was going to miss this—especially Gabrielle, but there was too much to say in too short a time, so he remained silent.

"You're not getting away that easily," Mrs. Delacour said. She reached over and pulled Harry into a hug. He was unresponsive at first; she was still a breathtakingly gorgeous Veela, but the hug reminded him too much of Mrs. Weasley and Harry ended up wrapping his arms around her and returning it.

He barely broke away when Gabrielle mauled him.

"Ribs . . . air . . . need to breathe," he wheezed.

She loosened her grip and put a hand on his cheek, pushing his other cheek against hers. "It's not fair, I finally get a big brother, and now I'm losing him."

Damn, he didn't expect both Delacour sisters to break his heart. He held her tightly for a couple of seconds. "You're not losing me, Gabby."

He leaned back so he could look at her in the eyes. "Why don't you come up with your father when he visits? If it's on a weekend, maybe we can even spend the day together."

"Okay," she whispered and pulled him to her again, holding on even tighter. Harry couldn't find it within his heart to complain about her death-grip.

She finally let go and he stepped back, taking one last look at the two Veela and wishing with all his heart that a third one was with them, but also glad she wasn't. The Portkey began to glow and a few seconds later, he felt the familiar pull behind his navel, taking him to Durmstrang.

Or so he thought.

The ground materialized in front of him as he landed, falling to his hands and knees on a stone walkway. He got back up quickly, and spun around in a complete circle, gawking at rubble amidst a green valley. His breath quickened and his heart began to race as his eyes darted from the crumbled remains of a castle to the ancient forest beyond, searching for enemies in the bright sunlight of the early afternoon.

_Oh, please God, not another school—_

"It's okay, Harry. Put your wand away."

He whirled to face the owner of the voice. Professor Sirko crested a small hill from a village in the distance.

"Where am I?" he asked again, this time hoping for an answer.

"Durmstrang, or at least, what was Durmstrang a little under five hundred years ago."

He looked around, this time noticing the moss on the broken walls and weatherworn floors of the school. "Let me guess, another war."

"Sadly. You'd think people would learn," Professor Sirko said. "Have you ever heard of the Peasant war?"

"No," he answered. "Should I have?"

"Probably not. It was a Muggle war in what is now Germany. Peasants were fighting the princes' troops and some mercenaries, about a hundred of whom were wizards. One day a cease-fire was negotiated, but once the troops and mercenaries had their reinforcements, they broke the agreement and the peasant army was devastated. Some of them got away and fled through this valley, down into the village and beyond.

"Even though the peasants couldn't see the school, the mercenary wizards entered looking for them. When the teachers opposed. . . ." He slowly waved his hands, encompassing the wreckage. "The school was razed and everyone killed."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Voldemort, Grindelwald, wars in France, this. . . Does it ever end?"

"No, Harry. It never does. There is always someone, some mad-wizard who is waiting to take up their wand against someone else for a grandiose scheme or imagined slight."

"Then what's the point of fighting?"

"Remember my sister I told you about, the one that's still living?"

"Yeah."

"She has a little boy now. I want him to be safe."

"So?"

"So what happens to him if I don't fight the wars of my day? What happens if you don't fight Voldemort? Are you willing to pass him off to your children?"

Harry pulled the collar up on his robe against the chill that ran through his body. "Of course not."

"So the right thing, then, is to fight our own wars and make the future as safe as we can for the next generation."

"I guess, but if there's always going to be someone waiting to pick up their wand against someone else . . ."

"Then why not pass them on so one evil can battle the other?"

"Yeah, at least that way, good people don't have to die."

"What makes you so sure they would battle each other? What if they joined forces instead?"

Harry looked back out over the ruined castle. So was that the only choice then? Either fight the evil of the day, or let his children fight a double evil in theirs? When had man become so wicked?

After a minute or so of contemplation, the professor reached into his robe. "Grab your trunk and owl and let's Portkey to the school."

"I thought I already did that once today," Harry said, with a little sarcasm.

Professor Sirko let out a short bark of laughter. "I hope you packed a lot of winter clothes—_thick_, winter clothes."

"Uh, not really," Harry looked at his trunk, wondering how he'd fit anything else in there. "Maybe we can stop somewhere and I'll do a little shopping."

The professor grinned. "You don't need to worry about it now. Plus, I have a few people in mind that would probably love to take you shopping."

Harry wasn't exactly comfortable with the look on the professor's face—it reminded him too much of Seamus's smirk just before he would wind up Ron.

God, I miss them all. "Why did you bring me here?" Harry asked quickly to distract himself.

"This is the way station for Durmstrang; we don't want people to know exactly where the school is, so everyone meets here, then the professors arrive with Portkeys for the second leg to school."

The older wizard pulled out a two foot-long staff and tapped it with his wand. "Grab your owl, I have your trunk."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur came home later that afternoon and slipped through the door, hoping to avoid Harry.

"Fleur, are you eating with us tonight?" her mother called out.

She rolled her eyes. So much for avoiding anyone. There was no way that she would stay home and suffer through a meal with Harry if she could help it. It hurt too much after he rejected her. Sure, he didn't know everything about Veela magic, but she wasn't going to tell him either. She refused to be the kind of Veela that relied on her magic for a relationship.

"What?" her mother said again, "I didn't hear you."

She turned around in the hallway and walked back to the main living room, arranging her features in the snottiest possible way, just in case Harry was there.

"Of course I'm—"

Her throat closed up and a knot formed in her stomach when she saw her mother and sister; loss clear in their red-rimmed eyes.

"He left," Gabrielle said, after getting up from the couch to face Fleur.

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb. You know exactly who I mean."

"Harry? Why. . . ." Color drained from her face and the knot tightened.

"He used a Portkey this afternoon. He's at Durmstrang now."

"No!" Fleur threw her cloak on the couch and rushed down the stairs to the apartment, only to find that his trunk, his broom, everything but the jersey he had worn over the summer was gone.

Slowly, she made her way to the bed. Tears fell as she took the jersey and held it to her face, breathing in his scent. A shadow appeared on the floor and she turned around to see her sister standing there, and their mother behind her.

"Did . . . did he leave me a note?" she asked.

"Too late for that, don't you think?" Gabrielle answered.

Fleur glowered at her sister.

"Don't you dare look at me like that, you selfish bitch."

"GABRIELLE!"

Gabrielle turned to her mother. "Why do I keep getting yelled at today? Do you want me to start lying or something?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about." Fleur snapped.

Gabrielle turned back to face her. "I know exactly what I'm talking about. I heard you two arguing; your Silencing Charm wasn't cast nearly as well as you thought. Of all the stupid, bird-headed things—and don't you dare tell me your not in love with him!"

Gabrielle huffed in disgust. "What is wrong with you?"

"With me? HE was the one that refused to let me help him. HE was the one that kept pushing me away. HE'S the one that left!"

"Oh? I'm sure it was all him!" Then Gabrielle mocked her sister's voice. "'No, real men are 'andsome.'

"That was him pushing you away, right? I found him sleeping on the couch a couple of weeks ago after your 'talk'. His arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to keep his heart from falling out of his chest, but that's a _clear_ sign he was pushing _you_ away, right?"

"I—" Fleur began, but Gabrielle, it seemed, didn't intend to let her get in a word.

"I hope you enjoy his scent on that jersey, because it's probably the last thing of his you'll ever have and a damn sight more than you deserve."

Fleur jumped up off the bed and sprinted out of the room, up the stairs, and to her own bed, where she remained the rest of the night, missing dinner. She lay there and cried for hours, the jersey held to her chest. What had she done? Why did it all go so wrong?

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The new Durmstrang was a small castle that sat in a high valley. Behind and to both sides of the school, mountains rose, almost vertically, another fifteen hundred to three thousand feet. Snow still covered the peaks and the few slopes among the sheer rock and cliffs, but it was just like a typical English summer in the small valley. A large pond or very small lake was situated about a hundred fifty yards from the front of the school. It drained into a lake about another thirty yards away. This lake however, was almost two miles long and a quarter-mile wide at its middle.

The grounds were well manicured, with stone pathways cutting across the green grass in several directions from the front doors. One path led to an immaculate Quidditch stadium on Harry's right. The stands were smaller, to match the student population, but everything screamed "quality." Or, more specifically, "We have a world cup Seeker that trains here."

A few trees dotted the grounds. Each one had a ten-foot wide, raised flowerbed built around the trunk, with benches leaning against the side of the massive planters and flowers of various colors growing in them.

Primarily built out of stone, the school was accented with marble and had matching marble floors, which contributed to its cold beauty and uninviting feel.

"Those doors are the same size as Hogwarts, but they have to be twice as thick," Harry said.

Professor Sirko chuckled. "Probably so, they're heavy too, made with solid Oak."

A wizard at least three years Harry's senior walked out of them and right up to Harry.

"This is Markus," Professor Sirko introduced them. "He's the equivalent of your Head Boy at Hogwarts, though here, the Head Boy and Girl have tutoring duties, since they've completed their seventh year already."

"_Guten Tag_," Markus said, extending a hand.

Harry did a quick survey of the older boy. He had to be a couple inches over six feet and was powerfully built, but he had a ready smile that spoke of both friendship and confidence. "_Willkommen in_ Durmstrang. Ve're going to have fun this year."

The smile turned mischievous. "Especially in our defense sessions."

The Professor laughed. "Markus is an extremely gifted duelist and not just for sport. He's going to help me train you in fighting battles, and in both the use of– and defense against darker spells.

"Come on, Harry. I'll show you to your room." Markus said.

Harry followed him into the equivalent of the Entry Hall. Inside, the castle carried on the theme with arched walls of stone and marble accents. There were no pictures and even their footsteps echoed ominously.

"An overpowering impression, _nein_?" Markus asked.

"Different from Hogwarts, that's for sure."

Markus snorted. "It won't be as bad as last year, though."

"Why's that?" Harry asked as they made their way up three flights of stairs.

"Professor Sirko is the new Headmaster. He's already set fires in the fireplaces at night for no magical purpose at all. Quite different from our last one."

Harry grunted—not wanting to share his opinion of the last headmaster of Durmstrang.

They reached the third floor and turned left, walking through another set of oak doors that opened into a common room.

He looked in and noticed a large fireplace with chairs and couches situated haphazardly around the room.

"Is this the same common room for everyone?"

"No. We're split into three groups—similar to your houses, I think, but our only competition is Quidditch."

"So, you _do_ have Quidditch teams?"

Markus laughed loudly when he saw the smile on Harry's face. "The teams form in September. We play six games throughout the school year."

"Six? You play each team three times?"

"No," Markus said, a gleam in his own eye, "The faculty have their own team, but don't get your hopes up. You're in my House and our team is already stacked—unless you're a Seeker. Viktor was ours; we hadn't lost a game since we got on the team in our second year."

"I'll keep that in mind," He said, and tried to repress his grin.

Markus raised an eyebrow. "You're a Seeker?"

"Yeah, since my first year and I only lost once—though the Dementors distracted me a bit that time. They seemed to like me for some reason."

"Dementors?"

"They were guarding the school from Sirius Black, who turned out to be innocent—"

"Yeah, I saw that."

"And also my godfather."

"Oh come on; stop yanking my wand."

"Trust me; I want nothing to do with your wand."

Harry found himself laughing comfortably with Markus.

"Sirius is the one that gave me my Firebolt after my Nimbus Two-Thousand was destroyed by the Whomping Willow tree that day."

Markus ignored everything else. "You have a friggen Firebolt?"

"Yep, right here." He tapped his trunk.

Markus's grin grew twice as large. "First chance we get, I'm putting you through some Seeker drills to see just how good you are. I don't get to play this year, but I can still help coach."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Let's go now; I haven't had a chance to fly for the fun of it since . . . well, the first task."

"I forgot all about that. Viktor sent us a vial with his memory; he was right impressed, by the way." Markus went through another door and up a set of stairs. "That was some good flying you did against that dragon - we may just win the Quidditch championship again after all."

"This is the living area for our dorm room," Markus said when they reached the top of the stairs and entered another room. "The beds are through those doors; the bathroom is in there as well. Go get settled in and we'll come get you before dinner.

There were four beds in the room, two sitting against the wall that ran against the back of the castle, and two that sat against the opposing wall of their dorm room. Markus already occupied one bed, so Harry took the opposite one, as far away from the doorway as possible, and wondered if the same company supplied beds to all magical schools. Each bed had a full-sized desk next to it.

After unpacking his books and assorted trinkets, he settled into the chair at his desk and opened the volume by Shelley that he had taken from the Delacour home (with permission). One particular passage had confused him, and for some reason, he was intent on learning what it meant.

"Harry?" A female voice called out to him some time later.

He looked back over his shoulder to find a femme fatale standing in his doorway; her long, blond hair gently swayed in a non-existent breeze and her lithe body was backlit in a soft glow. The pinkish full lips and slightly darker skin completed the sultry picture. Harry wanted to brag that he had killed a basilisk, four of them at once, actually. He even fought the Dark Lord—defeated him three, four, twenty times now without any help, blindfolded even . . . with basilisks—while they were still alive!

He bit down on his tongue and commanded himself to stay in the moment. "Um, sorry about that."

The young Veela smiled sweetly and sat down on his bed. "You're very impressive, my name is Azzurra. Markus told us to meet him up here so we could go to dinner together."

"Us?" Harry asked.

"Myself, Jaleena, and Médée. I'm the equivalent of your Head Girl, and the other two are the same as your Prefects . . . speaking of which—"

Two other witches walked into the room. Harry turned his back on Azzurra for a second to greet them—and realized that he was alone in a bedroom with three Veela. Dudley had VHS tapes hidden under his dresser that started out this way; a lonely bloke in a foreign place, visited by three gorgeous blondes in his bedroom. . . Harry closed his eyes and shook his head to clear away the thoughts.

"That's interesting; 'ow did 'e do that?" asked a Veela with long, purposefully messy platinum blonde hair, and wisps that framed her face when they weren't fallen across it; as if she was playing a sexy game of peek-a-boo, and, oh Merlin, did you ever want her to see you— He pushed that thought out of his mind as well.

The third Veela, a pixie-cut goddess with porcelain doll delicacy and as thin as a waif followed her in and alighted on the bed across from Azzurra—A pixie-cut goddess porcelain waif alighted? I really need to stop reading those stupid books from the Delacour's library. They're making me sound too much like Hermione . . . I wonder what she'd say to me now . . . god do I ever miss her and Ron—

"'Interesting's an understatement," the waif-goddess said.

He pulled himself from his thoughts and raised an eyebrow at her.

"You are fifteen, no?" The peek-a-boo Veela asked. Harry nodded. "Most men twice your age would be blithering idiots about now."

"I'd be a blithering idiot if I could get my mind to work enough to remember how," he said honestly.

Two of the three Veela smiled, but he noticed the waif-goddess stared at him, not amused.

"This is Médée." Azzurra said, nodding to the peek-a-boo Veela.

"And this," Azzurra continued, gesturing to the other Veela, "is Jaleena."

"Nice to meet the both of you," Harry said.

Jaleena smiled, but a person at wand-point could smile more naturally. "I'm glad to finally meet you in person after hearing about you in Viktor's letters."

And now, he was overcome by Jaleena. Her eyes were wide, honest, and piercing. She could open the soul's window and almost seek out the deepest—

Harry broke eye contact.

"Hmm. Veela magic, you have little problem with, but Jaleena hits you with those eyes of hers and you're a puddle of goo." Azzurra smirked. "Kind of sad, really. I'm a full Veela and she's the one that captures your attention."

Harry turned to Azzurra, afraid that somehow he had offended her. "I promise, your eyes are just as—" There was nowhere good that sentence could lead and Harry was suddenly at a loss for words. Of course, very few words were ever spoken in those VHS—

_No! No! No! NO! NO!_

Azzurra laughed quietly and laid a hand on Harry's arm. "It's fine. I would rather you be able to resist our magic anyway."

"Why's that?"

She made a cute little noise in the back of her throat that sounded like a sophisticated giggle, if there could ever be such a thing.

"Veela get tired of men staring at them. Be careful. Many Veela here would love to spend time with a young wizard who can look past their magic. You're also quite handsome and those Vulgaire clothes make your _culo _look very nice . . . you just may be in trouble."

"_Culo?_ Do I even want to know?"

"I believe the Brits call it an 'arse.'" Médée said, rather bluntly, Harry thought.

"And blushes as well?" Azzurra continued. "You are in trouble."

Harry cursed the fact that every woman he met lately seemed to enjoy making him do that. "I think I'll hide up here this year."

All three Veela smiled this time. "I don't think that's going to happen," Jaleena said, surprising Harry. "It feels like you've already spent too much time alone."

"What. . . ?"

"Harry," Azzurra began, "If Jaleena says you shouldn't be alone, then you won't be alone."

"I'm fine. I'm used to being by myself."

The three Veela looked at each other. "Wizards," they chorused.

Harry thought their synchronized eye roll was a bit over the top, but he grinned anyway. There was something disarming about the three of them and it wasn't their magic, or their beauty, though the latter didn't hurt.

"So," Azzurra continued, "Professor Sirko said you've been staying with a 'special' friend?"

He clenched his jaw and began playing with the hem of his shirt.

Azzurra's demeanor softened. "I sense a story about a witch, and it isn't a happy one. I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to pry."

"S'okay."

The silence grew uncomfortable before Harry remembered something Azzurra had said. "You're a full Veela?"

"As full as it gets; Italian on top of it, as well."

Médée groaned and rolled her eyes again. The corner of Jaleena's lips pulled up at the antics of the other two in a way that told Harry there was a long history between the three of them.

He scratched the side of his head, thinking back to a conversation with Fleu— another Veela he knew.

"I thought that in order to become a full Veela, it had to be offered to you by the Zekānōt and you had to go through the Gegenumenou?"

They stared at him, dumbfounded. Even at the young age of fifteen, Harry knew this would be the only time in his life that he would get three Veela to do so.

"You're right." Azzurra answered after getting over her surprise. "Most Veela like Jaleena and Médée must go through the ceremony in order to become full Veela, but for a very small handful, such as me, the magic naturally comes about at transformation."

"Does that mean yours is stronger?" he asked.

"You might say that," Médée quipped, trying to hold in a laugh at some inside joke.

He looked from Médée to Jaleena to Azzurra, and noticed how the other two subtly oriented themselves around— "You're going to become a flock leader, aren't you?"

Azzurra's eyes widened. "You really do know about us."

"I . . . yeah, I guess."

Harry missed the look Jaleena gave her and Médée as they all caught each other's eye.

"It's a pretty good sign," Azzurra finally answered, "though it doesn't always happen."

The door to the dorm room opened and Markus stepped through it. "Hey, are you Veela-chicks done giving the new kid a hard time?"

"Veela-what?" Azzurra got up out of Harry's desk-chair and zeroed in on her target across the room.

"I could call you a hen instead if you'd like."

Azzurra launched at Markus, but he slid out of the way. With a big grin, he grabbed her while she was still off balance and yanked her into him. She took the opportunity to swat him across the chest before leaning in and kissing him tenderly on the lips.

"Veela-chicks!" she huffed and pushed him away. "I remember when you couldn't say three words around us."

Markus rubbed his forehead. "Uh, yeah, let's not dig into the past. We should be heading down to eat soon, why don't we give Harry a tour of the school and finish in the Dining Hall."

Harry followed everyone downstairs, and stepped into the main common room when Médée and Jaleena reached out for him. Forty minutes later, Markus and Azzurra led them to the Hall for dinner, with Jaleena and Médée on either side of Harry, holding his hands.

Professor Sirko joined them. The Hall was quite a bit smaller than Hogwarts and a lot more utilitarian.

_Damn! That's it, no more of those stupid books—I don't even know if that's the right word! _

Harry chuckled and continued to look around. There were four big openings for fires, one in each corner of the room. The massive chimneys climbed towards the ceiling, which was a marble and stone arch.

He realized his first impression of the school was dead on; a cold beauty—uninviting to outsiders, but Harry was learning that not everything cold and beautiful on the outside was necessarily cold on the inside.

The food consisted of dishes from all over Europe. At Markus's insistence, Harry tried the Labskaus. This particular version, according to Markus, originated from Bremen and included corned beef, onions, and mashed potatoes, instead of beetroot and herring (after a taste, Harry was thankful those were served on the side).

Azzurra made him try the Butternut Squash soup, as it was her favorite dish from back home. It was okay, but he preferred the English style soups more. Médée informed Harry that she wasn't going to waste good French food on English taste buds, before cackling with laughter and pushing a plate of breaded cod fillets and a bowl of chips at him.

After the meal, they sat at the table long into the evening talking about Harry's knowledge of Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, and even Potions.

"Remember Harry," Professor Sirko said about three hours later. "You're not in school. This is training. If you want to accomplish your goal, it isn't going happen with fifth-year spells and jinxes. We're going to push you both magically and physically like you've never been pushed before."

"Great," he mumbled, a little unsure of what he had gotten himself into.

"You'll be fine," Markus encouraged. "I need to stay down here and go over a few things with Professor—er, the Headmaster."

"It's okay, Markus," Professor Sirko said. "I'm not quite used to the idea yet myself."

"Thanks, Headmaster. Anyway Harry, Azzurra will see you upstairs; we don't want you getting lost your first evening here"—he turned to his girlfriend—"if, of course, that's okay with you?"

She pushed her chair back. "Come on Harry," Azzurra said as she began to imitate Markus's voice, "it looks like I've been charged with 'seeing you to your room.'"

Halfway out of the Dining Hall, she took Harry's hand and smiled at him. He looked back over his shoulder at Markus, who evidently found Harry's shock and fear humorous.

He waited until they were walking down a long hallway before asking the obvious question. "Um, not that I don't appreciate it or enjoy it—probably too much," he whispered the last phrase, "but I was wondering why. . . well—"

Azzurra stopped and turned to him. Her lips were pursed slightly and her head was tilted barely to one side. No model, magical or Muggle, could pull off the look as well as she did.

"You're wondering why three older Veela haven't let go of your hand except to eat, right?"

"Ahh, yeah."

"I'm not sure how to answer you," she said.

"Why not just tell me the truth?"

"Are you sure? Médée may be blunt in normal conversation, but she pales compared to me when it comes to stuff like this."

"Seeing as how I don't think I've had a blunt conversation with a witch in a month, it might be refreshing."

Azzurra hesitated, then narrowed her eyes. "Witches can be confusing, even dangerous creatures when it comes to matters of the heart."

She paused again.

"But I think you've figured that out already, haven't you?"

Harry remained silent, afraid he'd say too much if he tried to speak.

"Hmm, I think we're going to add another course to your curriculum," she said, talking more to herself than to him. "Of course, that means even less unstructured time, but if it has to be. . . ."

"Wait a second—"

"No, never mind that right now—"she cut across him.

He opened his mouth again, but she put a finger on his lips and smiled. "Didn't you want to know why Veela are lining up to hold your hand?"

"I wouldn't exactly put it that way," he said, his wide-eyed innocence showing.

"You are too cute," she mused before turning serious. "You're broken, Harry."

Harry stared at the marble accents in the hallway, but saw nothing as he tried to process what he just heard.

"Broken?" he finally asked.

"Yes, broken. And we've decided we want to help."

Harry yanked his hand out of hers and stepped back. "So you took me on as a project? Is that it? You're trying to 'fix' me?" His voice grew even louder. "I'm sorry to disappoint, but I don't need your help."

He stormed off down the hall, took the stairs two at a time up three flights, and threw open the doors to the common room.

"Why can't people just leave me alone?" he asked the empty room. "Either I'm a Dark Wizard, trying to be the center of attention, or a leetle-boy who needs his hand held everywhere he goes. . . ."

The sun had set and the room began to get cold. Harry decided to make a fire and started walking towards the fireplace, but shadows bathed the room and he didn't see the leg of the coffee table. The walls echoed the noise his body made as it slapped down on the marble and wood flooring.

"You okay?" a voice asked from behind him.

"What do you think?" he answered, still lying face down on the floor.

"I think you'd rather be alone than let anyone inside. You're scared of the intimacy, and you're doing a bang-up job of pushing people away; if you really want to know what I think - or were you asking what I thought about your fall?"

Harry rolled over and sat up to see Jaleena standing over him, arms crossed and looking like a hawk eyeing its prey from above.

_Hedwig would be so proud of her._

"I thought Azzurra was the blunt one," Harry said. "How did you get up here so fast?"

"She is; and if you haven't noticed, voices carry in these halls, especially when you're shouting.

"Oh."

"So, I don't get it. Why do you want to stay broken?"

"What?"

"Knock off the one-word answers. You're too intelligent to play stupid, Harry."

"I agree," another voice said from behind her.

Azzurra stepped into the room—now looking more like a literal _femme fatale_ then a figurative one—and closed the door behind her. "We need to get one thing straight," she began, her lips barely moving. "You are not our 'project'. Why would Veela who are still objectified as nothing more than sex-pets, turn around and objectify you?"

Harry looked down at the floor. "I didn't think about it like that."

"No, you didn't," she snarled at him. "Nor did you consider the danger in turning your back on me once you really pissed me off."

Azzurra turned her hand over and opened it. Flames were flitting across the surface of the skin.

"The next time you walk away from an angry Veela, it's going to hurt; I promise. Only children run away so they don't have to deal with whatever they're feeling. You're not a child, do you understand?"

Harry bobbed his head like a five-year old.

Azzurra made a fist and then released it. The flames were gone. The anger and tension drained from her face and she reached out and took Harry's hand.

"Your eyes and body language tell us how much you've already been through. We hold your hand so you'll know someone cares for you, and hopefully safe enough to begin talking with one of us about what's really going on."

Harry looked down at his feet and wondered if anyone had ever made a bigger ass of himself.

There's always Malfoy. The corner of his lip pulled up at the thought. A minute later, Harry concluded that he might as well be honest. "I just don't like being thought of as a child, or someone that needs to be taken care of. It's the opposite of what I've been my entire life."

"You may not have been cared for, but it's not what you needed," Jaleena corrected him in a soft voice. "We all need someone to care of us, and take care of us at times—"

Harry opened his mouth, but Jaleena cut him off. "Don't even think about arguing with me."

Harry let out the breath he took and resigned himself to listen.

"You'll learn quickly, you can't go through life alone, no matter what you're trying to do; even if that includes revenge against Dark Lords . . ." she continued to speak and the words were very nice; the platitudes made even sweeter by the care with which they were spoken, but Harry knew the path that destiny had set before him was a solo journey. It had always been that way.

Hadn't it?

Then why did he have not one, but two dead best friends back home? Why did he agree with Cedric to finish the maze together? That wasn't being alone, was it? No, it wasn't, and look at what happened to him—to them for being with him.

They pulled Harry up off the floor and led him to the couch. A fire roared in the fireplace thanks to Azzurra, who then settled next to him. The three of them sat silently for the next hour, the two Veela again holding his hands as he wrestled with the truths that had been so bluntly presented to him.

After almost falling asleep, Harry bid them goodnight and walked up the stairs to go to bed.

"Wait a second," someone said from behind as he walked through the smaller common room.

He turned around to find Jaleena at the top of the stairs.

"I want to talk to you alone."

Harry's chest clenched at the thought of delving any deeper into his emotional state, but he had a feeling that it'd hurt a lot more if he said no, what with Azzurra's earlier words and all.

He stepped back towards Jaleena. "Okay. . . ."

"There's no reason for you to go through this life alone," she said. "Though it's easy to sense that's exactly what you're trying to do, even if you won't admit it to yourself. You've built a tough exterior and buried anything that you think makes you vulnerable behind it, but if you're not careful, it's going to become your Achilles heel. You're familiar with the saying, right?"

He nodded.

"Good. Then stop pushing people away who care for you."

The knot in Harry's chest tightened a little more and his brain seemed to take its own Pepper-up Potion, working double-time to protect him. "I don't get it. If I'm not your 'project', why do you all even care about me? You haven't even known me a day yet," he argued.

He couldn't help but notice the sad and slightly disapproving look Jaleena was giving him. "In some ways, we've known you for years. We're Veela; we sense and see things that tell us all about your life. We can't put it into words, we just . . . know."

"That makes no sense to me whatsoever."

Jaleena sat down on the arm of the couch. "When you affect men like we do, you need to be able to sense their intentions. Most Veela never spend time developing it, so they end up with an inkling, or feeling about a person; others develop it, and can sense both intentions and a person's character decently well. Both Azzurra and Médée have done that."

"And you?" Harry asked.

"It seems my human magic and Veela magic are both strong in that way. I can tell that you're enjoying the discussion at one level, fascinated by the way my magic works, but your also deeply troubled at another, afraid that I'll sense your secrets and vulnerabilities. There's something else too, but you have it very, very well hidden beneath everything else; especially the loneliness, which you're using as a protective blanket. It's the reason you keep everyone else out."

It took a physical effort for Harry to breathe. He could have been standing bum-naked in the middle of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, the moment Dumbledore read his name as the fourth Champion, and not felt as exposed as he did now.

"I won't say anything else. I know it's a lot to take in." Jaleena pulled his head down and planted a kiss on the top of it. A genuine smile graced her face.

"Oh and there's no need to worry or feel guilty, either," she said. "While all three of us think you're a rather good-looking bloke, as you Brits say—and Azzurra _is _right about your _culo_, none of us are interested in you that way, so relax."

"You could sense all that?" Harry asked, amazed.

"We could see that in your body language. Hell, Professor Sirko and Markus asked us about it, it was so obvious."

Harry shook his head, unable to say anything else.

Jaleena laughed, and Harry noticed that when she did, her face lit up, reminding him of the little angels with bright rosy cheeks he saw in the department stores around Christmas; cute, innocent, with no secrets to hide and completely vulnerable—

It hit him. She was letting him inside her private little world on purpose so that he'd reciprocate.

She was too bloody good at this touchy-feely bollocks.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry looked over at the clock and decided to get ready for bed. Professor Sirko had said they were getting up "early" the next morning. The way Markus laughed, he was sure that meant earlier than he would have liked.

"So, what do you think so far?" Markus asked, walking into the dorm room.

"Confusing," he answered with a chuckle.

"Naa, the castle's easy to find stuff in. Just remember, staff and faculty on the first floor, classrooms on the second, dorms on the third; oh, and the Dining Hall is back on the first floor, at the far end."

"That's not what I meant," he confessed.

"I didn't think so, but I forgot to tell you that earlier."

Harry pulled his shirt off and changed for bed, then quickly climbed under the covers. It felt like it was already winter.

"So what did you mean," Markus asked.

"Just, a lot of unexpecteds, I guess."

"Like?"

Harry looked at the bare nightstand next to his bed. If he was back in Hogwarts, the top would have been decorated with pictures of his parents; that one of him and Ron, Seamus, Neville, and Dean celebrating after winning the Quidditch Championships his third year; and an assortment of pictures with Ron, Hermione, and himself. There would even be a couple of pictures with various Weasleys running about trying to prank each other.

His breath caught in his chest.

"You okay?"

"I guess—so one thing I didn't get . . . if you just finished last year, how do you know so much about dueling and fighting?"

"I've been training all my life—preparing for the Auror service back home."

"You've wanted to be an Auror your whole life?"

"I didn't have a choice." Markus said as he climbed into his bed.

"Yeah, well, I guess I can understand that part."

Markus let out a rueful chuckle. "You probably would. It does seem unfair though, doesn't it?"

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Destiny picks people like us and demands that we make sacrifices. All we can do is prepare for it."

"Like us?"

Markus yawned. "It's a long story and trust me, you need to go to sleep soon, so I'll shorthand it for you. Did you ever think it strange that Viktor played for Bulgaria, but in private, preferred speaking German?"

"I never really thought about it."

"Viktor and I were from the same Wizarding—tribe? Group? I'm not sure what the right English word is. We grew up together, trained together to be our version of what you call Aurors, we were best friends . . . it's hard to believe he's gone," he finished in a small voice.

He rolled over on his side to face Harry.

"Were you with him when he died?"

"Kind of, I saw them being attacked. I was inside the school on the second floor, and flew out of a window on my broom. I attacked from the air while they were fighting on the ground. Professor Sirko saw the memories."

"He said something about it, but I wasn't ready to listen at the time; still not, really. But if I'm going to help you, I think need to know what happened."

Harry told him the entire story from the beginning of the maze to Fleur and him flying off on his broom, leaving the fallen body of Viktor behind. He made sure to emphasize Viktor's role in rescuing him and killing the black-robed sons of bitches; when he was finished, he looked over to see the muscle-bound wizard with tears in his eyes.

"At least he died the way he wanted to." Markus said.

"Why do you say that? I thought he'd want to die chasing a snitch."

Markus laughed, despite the tears. "Are you kidding me? He'd be mad as a dragon if that ever happened, it would have meant that someone beat him."

"Good point, but why did he want to die in a duel?"

"I didn't say he wanted to die in a duel. His grandfather was killed in the war against Grindelwald. Viktor wanted to die doing the same thing his grandfather did, fighting Dark enemies."

Harry had never seen that side of Viktor, but the way he fought the night of the third task, it made complete sense.

"Have you learned about that war yet?" Markus asked.

"Not really. We were still studying Goblin rebellions."

"Figures, there's been a lot of those in the U.K. Let me educate you on Grindelwald, are you familiar with the Muggle, Adolf Hitler?"

"Yeah. He was the sick bugger Voldemort copied half his ideas from."

"Grindelwald and Hitler had a working agreement, if not an actual alliance. Hitler wanted blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies for his master race. What creature do you know, that _always _produces blond-haired, blue-eyed little girls, and about a third of the time, blond-haired, blue-eyed little boys, regardless of the father?"

Harry shook his head. "But, Hitler wanted the perfect _Aryan_ race. I've read a bit about it this last summer. That wouldn't have included Veela."

"That's true, but his scientists surmised—rightly, as it turns out—that all blue-eyed people have a single, common ancestor."

"What? How is that even possible?"

"It gets into something the Muggles call 'genetics.' Basically, Muggle scientists are finding out that there is a specific gene and protein that has mutated, causing the blue eyes. It is so particular, that it will probably never happen again. So someone, a few thousand years ago, had these strange eyes, and someone else liked his or her eyes enough to have children with them, and blue eyes were introduced into the species. Today, every person in the world with blue eyes is related to that ancestor."

"And you actually believe that?" Harry asked.

"It's genetics. Yeah, I do."

"Okay, let's say it's true, I still don't see what it has to do with Veela."

"They have blue eyes, right?" Markus asked.

"Yeah."

"A few of the scientists were Muggle-born wizards. They told Grindelwald their suspicions about the genetics and together, they concocted a plan to convince Hitler that Veela were all of Aryan decent, split from the Muggle world three or four millennia ago. They conveniently left out the avian heritage, however.

"The result was an agreement with Hitler to provide Veela for a new master race—mated to the Nazi SS. If you know anything about the SS, imagine how scary a second, magically enhanced, and empowered generation would have been. In return, Hitler agreed to allow Grindelwald free reign in prosecuting his own war in the magical world."

"I never knew that . . . but what does it have to do with Viktor's grandfather?"

"There was a small group of German wizards that were so repulsed by the idea of enslaving and beating Veela into submission that they developed an underground resistance force. Both my and Viktor's grandfathers were leaders and they saved hundreds of Veela, Jewish wizards, witches, and even a few Muggle Jews as well.

"When he found out about it, Grindelwald hunted down our grandfathers. Once he caught one of them, we figure he used Veritaserum and found out about the entire underground, so everyone fled to Bulgaria."

"Why there?"

"You really haven't studied Muggle history, have you?"

"Not much," harry confessed, "though I've found it more interesting of late."

"Bulgaria was the only Nazi allied country to not deport Jews from within its borders. Since Muggle and Wizarding Jews, and Veela were sent into the heart of Bulgaria, they were kept safe. It just seemed the natural place for everyone else to go. Most of the families have remained there to this day."

"That's why Viktor played for Bulgaria," Harry thought aloud.

"Exactly."

"But, why not move back after the war? It's not the same Germany now."

"There's an agreement between the Bulgarian Wizarding government and the German families. We have our own special branch in their Auror service that is dedicated to hunting down Dark Wizards in Eastern Europe and Central Asia. Almost all of the children and grandchildren of the original resistance have been a part of the Auror service."

"It's a shame they didn't worry about England."

"They did. My father and Herr Krum, along with a number of others, were in talks with something called 'The Order of the Phoenix' to join the war, but it seems you put an end to it before they could get involved."

Harry stared up at the ceiling, thinking about how close Markus's father was to fighting the war next to his father. As his thoughts wandered, he realized how lucky he was that Krum was at his side in the graveyard. They way he fought amazed Harry. Then again, with all that training—

"Wait! That means you're trained too," Harry said.

"_Ja_, or maybe I should say, _Da_, since you know the story now. And starting tomorrow morning; you will begin your training. I'm looking forward to watching since Professor Sirko said he has a few 'special' things planned for you."

Harry didn't like the sound of that so he changed the subject. "How could you do all that stuff with an ex-Death Eater as your Headmaster?"

Markus laughed. "What training we did do here, we did right under his nose. The former Headmaster was clueless, though I am happy to hear he died for the right side in the end."

Harry pulled the sheets up a little more against the chill. "I guess that also answers why Veela are mascots for a Quidditch team."

"It makes a little more sense now, doesn't it?" Markus said, chuckling. "They love rubbing the Wizarding world's nose in their own history. Veela have long memories and a nasty way about them if they think they've been wronged."

"Oh, bugger," Harry whispered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, I was just talking to myself."

Markus chuckled. "I suggest we go to sleep, Professor Sirko wasn't kidding about training early in the morning."

**~ . ~ . ~**

Two hours later, Harry rolled over, still not able to sleep.

"_You're broken, Harry!" _

"_I think you'd rather be alone than let anyone inside. You're scared of the intimacy, and you're doing a bang-up job of pushing people away."_

"_Do you like being broken?"_

"_Only children run away so they don't have to deal with whatever emotions they're feeling and you're not a child."_

"_You've erected a tough exterior and buried anything that you think makes you vulnerable behind it, but if you're not careful, it's going to become your Achilles heel."_

"_Stop pushing people away who care for you!"_

He thought back to that day in the beginning of summer, thinking about Ron and Hermione.

He pushed Ron away last year.

He pushed Hermione away the year before.

Who else was he willing to do that to?

. . .

. . .

Fleur?

"_Veela have long memories and a nasty way about them if they think they've been wronged."_

Oh, bloody hell.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"GET YOUR ASS UP!"

A curse streaked across the dorm room and Harry fell out of bed, his legs dancing out of control.

He reached up for his wand, but before he could counter the curse, it flew in the air and a hand stretched out in the frigid early morning gloom to snag it.

"YOU'RE DEAD, BOY! THAT'S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SLEEP WITHOUT WARDS AND CHARMS PROTECTING YOU! NOW GET UP!"

Professor Sirko countered the jinx and tossed Harry his wand.

"GET DRESSED AND DON'T GET HIT AGAIN!"

"_Accio_ trousers!" Harry cried out.

A pair of trousers flew at him. He grabbed them and ducked as a jinx hit the shelf behind his head, which rattled under the strain.

He let loose a curse and tried to slip a leg in, only to fall on the bed and then arse over elbow backwards to the floor.

His rear-end provided too good of a target.

"Merlin's balls! That hurts!"

He jumped back up and let a stunner go while getting back to his trunk, rubbing his right bum cheek.

"_Accio_ Blackness powder." Hope the twins' last batch was better than before.

The bag came out of his trunk and he snatched it out of mid-air faster than a Snitch, spun around, and threw the dust.

The gloom turned back into night and Harry used the darkness to reach under the bed. He put on his shoes and a pair of socks he'd laid out on Markus's advice, and almost had his shirt on when a tornadic wind whipped through the room and the darkness disappeared. Harry took a curse between the shoulder blades and slumped down, his shirt falling to the ground under the desk.

Professor Sirko hit him with a Reeneravate Spell and without hesitation, Harry spun around, putting up a _Protego _Shield just in time as another curse bounced off it. Then he went on the offensive, following the rebounding curse with his own stunner.

The Professor had misjudged Harry's speed and fell to the ground, stiff as a board.

"I'll counter it in a second, Professor; just let me get my shirt on."

He found it and shook it out, then pulled the shirt over his head, only to find himself sitting on his rear-end. He rubbed his chest where the spell hit, looking up at the revived professor and behind him to Markus, who winked and waved his wand.

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up, glancing at his watch; Five-ten a.m.?

The professor's voice boomed in the dorm room. "YOU'RE FINALLY DRESSED? GOOD, NOW RUN!"

Markus took over and they ran around both lakes. It was about a four and a half mile circuit, and was followed up with a conjuring of walls, barriers, stumps, and other assorted items that Harry had to navigate over, under, and around. Whenever Markus thought he was going a little slow, jinxes were added into the mix.

Three hours later, Harry sat at breakfast, his food pushed aside and his head resting on his arms.

"Wake up. You need to eat to make it through the day."

A bleary-eyed Harry tried to make out the face in front of him. He finally gave up and put on his glasses.

"I'd rather go back to bed," he told a now clear Professor Sirko

The professor sat across from him and dished out his own breakfast. "The first few days are the worst, especially the yelling and screaming."

"Then why. . ."

"Because it's the best way to get you disoriented and then see how you react. When you're in the middle of a fight and get disoriented, you make mistakes, those mistakes will kill you. What were your mistakes this morning?"

"I woke up in Durmstrang," Harry said, his head in his arms again and ignoring the chairs moving around him.

"How's your first day of training?" Azzurra asked.

"Loud."

"And it's about to get louder if you don't eat," Professor Sirko reminded him. "So, back to the lesson, what did you do wrong?"

Harry obeyed and began to eat. "I guess the first thing I did wrong was not knowing how to transfigure clothes so I didn't have to worry about getting dressed."

"That's good thinking," Professor Sirko said, after swallowing a bite of eggs. "Based on our discussion last night, Azzurra's going to tutor you in Transfiguration and charms. You should be able to transform your clothes in about a month.

"But that's all knowledge based. What did you _do_ wrong this morning?" the Professor asked again.

"Wards are a bit out of reach for me still, so I guess the first thing was leaving my wand under my pillow where I had to find it. It would have been faster to have it on my body somewhere. You already got to me before I could reach it and counter the first spell."

"I think you're right on both assessments. Never sleep without your wand attached to you somewhere. Don't leave it on a dresser or under a pillow. If you get hit with a Portkey, you're completely up a crick."

"A crick?" Harry asked, a little confused.

"A creak, sorry."

"I still don't get it."

"It's part of a larger saying, about being up a certain kind of bodily waste creak without a paddle."

Harry took his knife and pushed the banger off his fork, losing his appetite for the suddenly visually unappealing food.

"As for wards, we'll get to them once you have a handle on seventh year charms. What else?"

Harry took a bite of toast and thought about the question. "I don't know. Maybe focused on you and getting dressed at the same time?"

"Excellent," the professor said. "Only worry about something secondary in battle once you've dealt with the primary objective. Don't get sidetracked. You were right to not counter the jinx you hit me with until you were dressed."

He nodded. It did make sense after all.

"So, what else did you do well?"

"Get cursed and fall to the ground?"

At least they were laughing.

"Give yourself more credit than that," Professor Sirko said. "Though sloppy, your wand-work was fast, and powerful. You actually got me once, which reminds me; where did you learn how to manipulate spells?"

"What do you mean?"

Professor Sirko cocked an eyebrow. "You mean you didn't do it on purpose?"

"Honestly, sir, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Damn," the Headmaster said to himself. "You're beginning to control your magic by intent and don't even know you're doing it. It's a good sign, maybe. . . ."

Harry speared a banger and chewed while contemplating what "controlling magic by intent" was supposed to mean. At least it took his mind of a certain kind of "crick," or "creek." Why would anyone think of a. . . Harry barely managed to swallow.

"Feeling better?" Another voice asked.

He turned to see Markus sitting next to his girlfriend. "Sorry I didn't warn you about this morning."

"I'm sure you are," Harry said.

Markus answered with a grin. "Are you ready for a little magical fight after breakfast?"

"You mean dueling?" he asked.

"No," Professor Sirko cut in. "Dueling is what you do when you want to dress up like an idiot and prance before judges. Dueling has many rules. Fighting has one: win. Remember that."

Harry absorbed the message as the other five talked around him, slipping between German, English, Italian, and French. Harry had never felt so out-of-place.

It must have been obvious.

"Do you not know another language, Harry?" Markus asked.

"I studied some French over the summer, but not too much."

"What made you study French?" he asked, "or should I ask, who?"

"That's enough," Professor Sirko said with a chuckle. "Let's keep Harry's mind on training, instead of the smitten French witch that couldn't keep her eyes off him when we met for lunch."

The three Veela glanced at each other and grinned rather cheekily, Harry thought.

"So, when do we get to play with Harry?" Azzurra asked.

Markus's fork stopped halfway to his mouth as he and turned to his girlfriend. "Go easy on him this afternoon, he's going to be worn out by the time I'm done hexing, cursing, and exercising him all morning."

Harry groaned. "Getting hit with the _Cruciatus _Curse isn't even this bad."

"I doubt that," Markus said.

"Trust me," Harry replied, his own dark humor painting a smirk on his face as he finished his breakfast, but when there was no response, he looked up to see four sets of young eyes focused on him.

"You've suffered the _Cruciatus_ Curse?" Jaleena's voice was a strange mix of concern and awe.

Harry glanced back at the professor and noticed him nodding for Harry to go on. "Um, yeah. I've felt it once or twice."

The professor lifted an eyebrow. "I think you felt it more than that, Harry. You've cast it at a Dark Lord as well."

"YOU CRUC—"Azzurra clamped her hand over her mouth and modulated her voice before continuing. "Dramatic Veela gene, sorry. You actually used the _Cruciatus_ Curse on him?"

"He did," Professor Sirko confirmed. "Brought Voldemort to his knees with it."

The three Veela looked at him wide-eyed.

Markus tipped his cup up and chugged the rest of his drink before slamming it down on the table. He pointed at Harry. "You, me, in the training center, now!" A confident grin grew across his face. "Let's see if it was just a lucky shot, shall we?"

Azzurra smacked her boyfriend on the arm. "I'm not sure whether I want you to win or lose with that kind of cocky attitude," she teased.

"Win, definitely," he said, "or I'll probably be too sore to take you on our date tonight."

Azzurra made a show of thinking about it. "Sorry, Harry," she finally answered. "I _really _want to go out with my boyfriend tonight."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Damn he was a good fighter. Harry picked himself up off the hard floor for the fourth time.

"Harry," Professor Sirko said from the side, "you're holding back too much. The wards will not let you seriously hurt him, no matter what you cast."

They began circling again. Harry watched Markus wave his wand slowly, trying to mesmerize him. Then quickly the wand struck out, drew back at a sharp angle, and forward again. A bluish curse shot out of it at Harry.

He sidestepped it and fired off his own _Reductor_ Curse, only to watch Markus bat it away with his wand.

Are you kidding me?

"Come on, Harry. Did you really fight Voldemort, or are you taking credit for Viktor's work?"

"What?" Harry took a shot to the chest and fell, legs flailing up and over his head as he landed on his back.

"I'm done," Markus said, "and I don't particularly like having to live with liars, either."

"Liars?" Harry jumped up off the floor. "I'm no ruddy liar!"

Markus turned his back to Harry and reached for the towel hanging on a peg. "There is no way in a Goblin's Hell you could have done half of the things you claim."

"Yeah? TRY ME!"

"I just did. You're not worth it."

The wall above Markus's head shook as rock chips sliced through the air. "Turn around and face me!"

Markus dropped his towel and turned around slowly.

"You're going to hurt come morning."

Harry reached back into his childhood, and his Uncles bigotry. "Yeah? Let's go—Kraut."

Markus's wand sliced through the air and a sickly yellow light flew straight at Harry.

"_Protego_!" Harry cried out, then countered immediately, whispering, "_Vehementi Interitum_,_"_

Markus barely had time to clear the path as the curse rushed by him, shattering two bookshelves that sat against the back wall.

But Harry didn't stop there. "_Opprimendi Vis_," he whispered again, and another spell shot out of his wand.

Markus charmed a shield and Harry had to dive to the floor of the rebounding curse, but instead of diving to the side, he dove forward and just off-center, hoping to throw Markus off by the move, and then let loose a simple Disarming Charm to keep Markus occupied. He rolled as he hit the ground, and then fired one last spell. "_Immobulus_!"

The move kept Markus on the defensive. He dodged the first curse and had to wand block the second one before letting loose his own combination, something that looked like a mix of cutters and stunners.

Harry realized he was too close and wouldn't be able to get avoid it, so he did the only thing that came to mind. "_Accio Sirko!" _

The professor shot towards him as the spells hit him, throwing the professor back ten feet across the floor.

Harry quickly charmed his offhand and put a Stunner on it, then dug into his repertoire of darker curses, slicing his wand through the air.

"_Os Eieci!_"

"_Retro Conteram!_"

"_Cor Exterminatore!"_

The Pain Curses leapt forward, black and angry-looking.

Markus threw himself to the ground and Harry flexed his left hand, letting go of the last curse. It smacked Markus across the head.

"Get up! If your man enough to call me a liar, be man enough to get your arse handed to you!"

He heard a chuckling from behind him as Professor Sirko gingerly stood up, walked back to his seat, and cast a ward around himself and the three Veela watching.

"Come on, Markus," Harry raged.

Markus, who was on his knees now, popped up to his feet. He grinned at Harry. "This is more like it."

Spells cascaded towards Harry from three different directions. He danced away from the first one and to his utter surprise, wand-blocked the second one completely by accident, but the third one caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around and down to the cold floor.

But before he even hit it, he let loose a String-Trip Jinx he'd picked up in a book at the Delacours. The spell stretched wide, replicating its namesake. Markus jumped.

"_Locomotor Mortis!_" Harry yelled, putting another spell at current knee height as Markus reached the top of his jump.

A chair flew up from the side of the room and intercepted the curse, splitting into three large pieces as it hit the floor. A quick wand wave and Markus sent three nasty look badgers running toward Harry.

Harry tapped his hand again, then let loose two Blasting Curses, littering the floor and walls with the internal organs of the dead animals. The third one kept coming until Harry took care of it with a _Diffindo_ Curse, but he took too much time.

Markus cast three more curses. Harry countered with another _Protego _Spell and didn't even consciously think about the next series of curses he cast, adding to the three that were returning to Markus.

Markus dove out the way, but before the last curse even passed him, Harry conjured a snake, launching it into the air. _"Sreesth Tseetha," _he ordered.

Markus got off the floor and spun around to curse Harry, but ended up wide-eyed and frozen as a ten-foot pit viper stretched out to its full length and opened its mouth, still hurdling through the air.

But Harry didn't give a damn about Markus's amazement.

"_Incarcerous_," he yelled.

Markus fell to his knees as the ropes bound him.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" The green curse leaped from his wand. Markus pushed himself to the right of the Killing Curse with what little leg movement he had, and straight into the path of the pit viper. Inch long fangs connected with his throat.

Then a flash filled the room and the snake was gone. Markus fell to the ground and reached for his neck, checking to make sure there were no bite marks.

Azzurra ran from the bench and knelt in front of him, her hands frantically searching his skin.

"You happy now!" Harry yelled. He walked back to his side of the room and took his towel off the hook, wiped his face and arms off, then threw it down in disgust.

"DAMN IT!"

"What's wrong?"

He spun around to see Markus crossing the room towards him, wand down and a genuine smile on his face. "That last one was a hell of a fight, but you need to work on controlling your emotions, or you're going to get provoked into bad situations. Whispering spells was a smart move, but after the first time, I could read your lips and guessed at what was coming. We're going to add silent-casting to the syllabus. However, you're fast, powerful, and you adapt. That's a deadly combination"

The smile only got bigger as Harry's look of incredulity grew.

"I believe," Professor Sirko began, "Harry thinks we're going to be put off because he can speak to snakes or cast the Killing Curse."

Harry looked from Markus to Professor Sirko.

"Don't worry Harry," the professor continued, "we don't have a Salazar Slytherin at this school. The only people here who will care about your particular ability are your sparing partners."

"Yeah, Markus said. "But it looks like I get to dig into _my _bag of spells a little deeper tomorrow. I think we're going to skip the rest of the entry-level stuff and move right on up the ladder to 'beat your ass.' Sound good?"

Harry nodded and turned around to get his stuff. "I thought you were going to beat my arse to impress your girlfriend today," he said quietly.

"What was that?" Markus demanded. Harry turned around to see a glint of mayhem in his eyes and the grin of a Cheshire cat.

Harry made sure Markus's wand was nowhere in sight. "I said, 'sure, you can try to impress Azzurra again tomorrow while getting your arse handed to you.'"

Oi! Markus could wrestle as well. It was a very hard floor

**~ . ~ . ~**

Harry begged off lunch, choosing to make himself a couple of sandwiches and go back upstairs to his dorm. He stopped by the library and checked out a book. By the time he reached his bed, the first sandwich was gone and the second halfway finished.

He put his plate on the desk and opened the book, thumbing through it while finishing the second sandwich before crawling into bed. The day was half through and he felt like he could sleep for a week already.

Before lying down, Harry twirled his wand a couple of times, trying a new charm he had just read about. A green and white light danced around his bed and faded. Satisfied, he set an alarm to wake him up in fifty minutes and lay down. Three minutes later, he was out cold.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A high-pitched keening woke Harry up. He opened his eyes to see Veela and wizards alike diving for the floor as a curse bounced back at them.

Harry quickly whipped his wand out. "_Expelliarmus!_"

To his utter surprise, five wands shot into the air. Harry thought quickly. "_Accio_ wands!"

Unfortunately, "thinking quickly," doesn't equate to "thinking things all the way through." Harry managed to get his pillow up in front of him as all five wands ricocheted off it, falling to the bed and the ground below.

A noise that sounded like a wheezing bear choking to death reached his ears. He lowered his pillow to find Markus, lying on the floor where he dove, holding his stomach, and laughing so hard at Harry that his eyes were watering.

Harry couldn't help but smile. "Pratt!"

Markus laughed even harder, now unable to pull himself up. The rest left him there and walked over to Harry.

"You're a quick learner," Professor Sirko praised him.

"Thank you, sir."

"How did you figure out that ward?"

He reached over and pulled a book off his desk, handing it over to the professor.

After reading through the bookmarked page, Professor Sirko put the book down and picked up his wand from the bed. "That was good thinking. The ward was entry-level, and basic at that. You'll need to learn much stronger ones before you go back, but for someone just entering their fifth year, that was a pretty powerful charm."

"Thanks."

"Too bad he ruined it by almost impaling himself with our wands," Markus barely managed from the floor, where he was wiping eyes now.

"Doesn't that mean he's beat you twice today, love of my life?" Azzurra asked, as she winked at Harry.

"If you want to go on that date tonight, I suggest you choose which side you're rooting for," Markus shot back playfully, finally able to get to his knees.

Azzurra sat down on Harry's bed and leaned against him. "Keep it up, and it'll be Potter's side in no time."

Harry wasn't sure how it happened, but Markus stood up, stretched out his hand, and his wand shot towards it, almost at the same time. He pointed it at his girlfriend. "_Accio_ Veela hen!"

Azzurra yelped as she flew towards the room, crashing into Markus and flipping them both back on the bed. The next twenty seconds were filled with the sexiest Italian swearing Harry had ever heard before it morphed into a language he'd only had contact with once before; Harry now understood exactly what both Fleur and Azzurra meant about angry Veela.

Up close, a full Veela in bird form was as scary as hell. Markus was the one now yelping as he ran out of the door, a fireball hitting him on his _culo_. Azzurra chased him through the next room and down the stairs before Harry could no longer hear the two of them.

"Think she'll be okay to teach me this afternoon?" Harry asked.

"Just don't make her mad," Médée answered with a wink.

Harry groaned, remembering the night before.

Jaleena reached down and touched his forearm. "She'll be okay, and yesterday evening never happened, as far as she's concerned."

"I hope so."

Professor Sirko chuckled at him left the room.

Médée shook her head slowly. "Never the dull moment around here, no? Come 'Arry, we'll get you to your classroom. Maybe you don't want to make Azzurra mad by being late."

"I think you're right," he said. "Could you wait for me in the commons for a few seconds, I need to put on some trousers."

"Sure, we can do that," Médée said, "as long as you answer a question first."

"What's that?" he asked.

Harry noticed at the last moment Jaleena biting her lip and trying not to laugh.

"I was just wondering, 'Arry," Médée started in the sexiest voice he'd heard yet from the peek-a-boo Veela. "before I reach for it, is that my wand or yours lying between your legs?"

"Every bleedin' Veela I meet!"

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"So, Harry, ready for your Transfiguration lesson?" Azzurra asked as Médée and Jaleena delivered him to the classroom.

"Would it change anything if I said no?" he answered,

"Probably not. Learning three years worth of charms in less than three months is like building Rome in a day; pretty much impossible, even more so if you take time off."

"Yes ma'am."

"That is _not _how you get in my good graces, Potter."

Harry bit the inside of his lips to stop from laughing; he didn't need to see her bird form again.

"Alright, if you're going to be a difficult student,"—she smirked—"What are the five Principle Exceptions to Gamp's law?"

Harry plopped himself down in a chair. "First, you can't produce food or love; second, you can't restore body parts that are destroyed by Dark Magic, nor life; three and four are similar, you can't create precious metals; and five, you can't transfigure something into a giver of knowledge."

Azzurra nodded. "Very good, now let's see you transfigure something."

She tossed a few marbles, a snuffbox, and a cup on the desk.

"Transfigure the marbles into something larger."

Harry waved his wand. "_Duro_!"

Three of the marbles turned to stone.

"Hmm," Azzurra said as she inspected the stone marbles. "They are a little larger, and the same shape as before."

She waved her wand and they transformed back to their original state.

"Again. This time, I want them to double in size."

Harry tried it again and produced three large, though slightly oblong stones, each one about three times the original size.

"That's better. Now, what impressed me is that you're transfiguring three objects at the same time. Your Disarming Charm impressed me for the same reason; it takes quite a bit of power to do what you did. How are you doing it?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. I just decided I was too tired to do it more than once, so I concentrated on all three marbles. I've never done it before."

"Wait - that was the first time you've attempted a multi-item Transfiguration?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

Azzurra grinned. "There might be hope for you yet. Show me what else you can do."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The rest of August continued with little difference from that first day. By September first (the beginning of the regular school year), Harry had almost completed the fifth year of classes in Transfiguration, Charms, and Dark Arts/Defense. The last one, he was actually half way through his sixth year already. After facing Voldemort three times in four years, a classroom version of Dark Arts is rather tame, though the theory was still important as Harry was beginning to learn.

Azzurra however, wasn't as happy with his progress in Transfiguration and Charms, as she was explaining to Harry when the other two Veela walked in.

"How's he doing?" Médée asked.

"About the same as before. He makes up for precision with power. I noticed it while he fought Markus that first day, and there's not much change."

"I don't understand what the big deal is," Harry said, truly confused.

Azzurra hopped up on the teacher's desk in the front of the classroom, letting her legs hang against the front of it. "You're pushing too much power through your spells because you are not precise enough. It wastes magic."

"It still gets the job done though, right?"

"Not necessarily," Médée began. "Powerful wizards are precise wizards. Right now, instead of being a powerful wizard, you're a sloppy-arsed wizard with a powerful wand."

Harry couldn't help but blush.

"Oh _merde_, I didn't mean it like that," Médée covered her mouth and blushed. Harry was happy that at least he wasn't the only one this time.

"Leaving Médée's wand issues aside for a moment," Azzurra quipped, getting back to the lesson, "she is basically right, which makes it all the more confusing how detailed your conjured snakes and ropes are. What's the biggest thing you've conjured?"

"Normal fourth year stuff, I guess. Does a _Patronus_ count?"

"You can conjure a _Patronus_?" Médée clarified.

"A corporeal one, actually."

"I have to see this," Azzurra said. "Show me."

Harry dug deep for a feeling of joy and found that it was much harder now, what with everything that had happened over the last few months. He thought about the day that he found out that he was a wizard, about Sirius being declared innocent, about Quidditch, but all those memories were stained with the death of friends.

Then, as confusing as it was, another memory enveloped him, and he knew it was the right one. Lying on the bed in the Burrow with Fleur in his arms last spring, everything felt so right, so peaceful, and so beautiful—

"_Expecto Patronum_!_"_

"What the f—"

The full corporeal _Patronus_ was the most majestic, ancient creature he had ever seen. "That's . . . not . . . " Harry managed.

Three Veela stared at the _Patronus_, shocked. After a few seconds, they shifted to him.

"Um, none of us cast it," Médée finally said.

"Do you know what it is?" Azzurra asked.

"Not a clue,"

"It's like a cross between a Haast's Eagle and Peregrine Falcon," she informed him.

"Okay, so why are the three of you looking at me like that?"

"Because . . ." Azzurra trailed off.

He waited, until he figured he wasn't going to get anymore out of her without prompting her again. "My primary teacher used to say, '_because,_ is not an answer'."

She shook herself out of her thoughts. "Harry," she tried again. "A _Patronus_ is supposed to be a projection of what's at the core of your being, or . . ."

"Or what?" he asked, smacking his wand on his leg hard enough to cause it to emit sparks. Jaleena reached down and took his hand to calm him.

Azzurra seemed to snap out of the daze a little more. "Sorry, Harry. I've heard about this, but never seen it before. Your _Patronus_ is a magical projection of a creature that lived millennia ago. There was supposedly only one in existence."

"And?"

All three Veela smiled before Azzurra answered. "And three of its descendants are standing in this very room."

Jaleena squeezed Harry's hand. "It means that a Veela has shared of her magic deeply with you, and that she has also stolen your heart and you don't want it back."

"Harry?" Azzurra purred. "We know it's not any of us, we haven't shared nearly enough magic with you to produce that. Is there something you want to tell us?"

"Not really," Harry answered.

"Then it's a mystery. Let's see, according to the professor, she'll be French," Azzurra reminded everyone. "So, how many French Veela does Harry know?"

"French; wasn't there. . ." Médée turned to Harry wide-eyed. "The Tri-Wizard Tournament. It's the Beauxbatons Champion, isn't it!"

The look on Harry's face answered her question before his lips ever moved.

"_Oulala,_"Azzurra teased. "I've seen her picture—she's pretty, even for a Veela, and then an older Veela on top of that? Very impressive, Harry!"

He rolled his eyes. "Is the lesson over yet?"

"Can you make your _Patronus _carry a message?" Azzurra asked.

"What? You can do that?"

"Looks like the lesson isn't over," Azzurra answered.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Three weeks later, Harry woke up, looking forward to the day. He was now a little under halfway through the sixth year material. Even Potions was coming along okay, though not great. He would never become a Potions master.

His schedule had changed some when the other students showed up three weeks ago, but he was still getting up at five a.m. and doing the Two-Lake Jog, as it was known, then navigating the ever-changing obstacle course. Except now, seven other German-Bulgarian students, carrying on the tradition of their fathers and grandfathers, joined him.

After breakfast, he practiced with Markus and talked about the theories surrounding Dark Arts until lunch. His afternoons had changed, thanks to Azzurra, Jaleena and Médée. They made him spend two hours, twice a week, in Veela studies. It was his only class with other Durmstrang students, and he was the only non-Veela in the class as well. The rest of his time was taken up with the private tutoring, which now included a session taught by Médée. Somehow, the three Veela had decided that not only was Harry going to learn about _Mademoiselle_ Delacour's avian background, but he also was going to be able to speak her language, fluently.

After three weeks of studying French two hours a day, all three Veela and Markus forgot how to speak English during meal times; French however, they spoke perfectly. What really annoyed Harry, what that Markus decided to translate the Quidditch tryouts into French. Since the rest of the team knew the language, it was now the unofficial language of team.

Harry stretched, and smiled, thinking about the upcoming day. His Veela-chicks (as he now called them whenever they decided to take the mick out of him) and Markus were going to visit a couple of towns and help Harry get some warmer clothes. All in all, it'd make for a nice day away from the school.

He got out of bed, making sure the comforter was still wrapped around him, and walked to the window. It was the middle of flipping September and it was snowing outside. Worse yet, Harry knew the Two-Lake Jog was still in his future before they would leave.

Well, at least there wouldn't be the afternoon sessions of pushing and pulling things across the gym, though Harry had to admit, it was doing wonders for him. None of the shirts he owned last year fit him, and even the ones he bought at the beginning of summer stretched a little tightly across his chest now.

If nothing else, maybe new clothes that fit would keep Azzurra and Médée from teasing him about his new body. Even Jaleena was starting to get in on the act.

Harry chuckled to himself and decided to face the day. He dropped the comforter and as quick as humanly possible, put on his trousers and jumper, then socks and shoes. Last, came a new item in his wardrobe. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, then picked up a leather tieback and pulled his hair together, about a third of the way down his back and tied it off.

Why get a haircut now? It was even easier this way and truth be told, he was getting quite a few compliments on it.

Of course, he looked forward to hearing what Gabrielle had to say about his new hairstyle and body. Her letters were always full of cheek and brightened his day, not like Fleur could, but more and more, like Hermione used to. He always tried to write her back within a day. Then again, if he didn't, Hedwig pestered him until he picked up a quill.

He never asked about Fleur, and Gabrielle never said that she asked about him. The more he was learning about Veela, the more he realized how much she had given him over the summer, and how he had slammed the door in her face. He couldn't even blame her now for the way she acted in Paris that day. It was minor compared to how most Veela would have reacted.

Harry pulled himself back to the present and got ready to run. At least Jacque and Gabrielle were coming to visit, and the others had agreed to take Gabrielle with them when they went shopping today.

With a big stretch, he walked out into the middle of the room and cast a _Sonorus _Charm on himself.

"GET YOUR ARSES OUT OF BED NOW!"

He shot off a jinx at the far bunk. "DON'T TELL ME YOU SLEPT WITHOUT A CHARM OR WARD, MARKUS!"

Harry found that he absolutely loved being in a dorm with three other seventh year German-Bulgarian students following the same path as Markus, especially when he woke up before them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN Genetics: **The information concerning genetics is anachronistic to this story, as the research was not published until Jan. 2008. I found it so fascinating, however, and played so well into the background story that I wanted to tell about the Veela and the German-Bulgarian group of wizards, that I incorporated it. For those of you who are interested, the mutation affects the gene in the chromosome that is responsible for providing melanin. We are all familiar with what happens when that gene is destroyed—the melanin is not produced and the person suffers from Albinism. For blue eyes, a gene that sits next to this particular gene acts as a "switch" which restricts the creation of melanin, thus diluting brown eyes to blue eyes (brown eyes are the original, it seems). The mutation of the adjacent gene is what created the switch. What is even stranger, is that there is such a small variation in blue eyes. Scientists use this as evidence to "conclude that all blue-eyed individuals are linked to the same ancestor."

Eiberg, Hans, Jesper Troelsen, Mette Nielsen, Annemette Mikkelsen, Jonas Mengel-From, Klaus Kjaer, and Lars Hansen. "Blue Eye Color in Humans may be Caused by a Perfectly Associated Founder Mutation in a Regulatory Element Located within the HERC2 Gene Inhibiting OCA2 Expression." _Human Genetics_ 123, no. 2 (2008): 177-187.

**Historical elements in this story: **The information about the Peasant war is correct—except for the wizards, of course. What I described was an actual battle that took place. Also, the information about Bulgaria in WWII is correct. While still participating in racial discrimination against the Jews, including deportation from other nations that they controlled at the time, Bulgaria also managed to save every last Jewish person in Bulgaria proper from the concentration camps.

* * *

><p><strong>Spell Translations:<strong>

_Vehementi Interitum_—violent destruction

_Opprimendi Vis_—Crushing force

_Os Eieci_—Bone Banish

_Retro Conteram—_Back Break

_Cor Exterminatore—_Heart Destroyer


	13. Making Headway

.

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Making Headway**

Harry rolled over in his bed and looked out the window; the snow was falling heavily, making the chilly morning feel that much colder. He was thankful for the warmer clothes he bought a couple weeks ago, though the time with Gabrielle and his new friends was, to say the least, interesting. He lost count how many times Gabrielle had managed to make him blush, including when she smiled innocently and worked in the fact that. . . .

He shook his head and got out of bed, noticing the others moving in the darkness. No one particularly enjoyed the thought of running the lake—especially as October turned to November and the average high temperature stayed below freezing. Living in a valley made it worse since the sun didn't reach them for a good hour after it rose, sometimes not until nine in the morning, and then set around three in the afternoon.

And to think, the days are only going to get shorter and colder, until there's only five hours of sunlight, none of which actually touches the valley Floor. Harry shivered again and threw on his extra thick robe, now understanding why it was lined with fur.

"_Prêts?_" one of his roommates asked.

"_Non_," he answered truthfully, not at all ready to face the cold. It didn't matter.

"_Allons-y!_"

Harry squeezed his wand, resisting the urge to hex the guy. It was too early and too cold to be that exuberant. He picked his gloves up off the desk where they lay next to Shelley's Anthology. He still didn't understand that damn passage.

"_Vous êtes sur le point d'être maudit, Harry!, Allons-y!_"*

Harry smirked. "Go ahead and try hexing me, just remember that we're partners today in combat."

He laughed at the reply his roommate showed him and slipped on his boots, then followed them out of the room, down the stairs, and out around the lake, making sure his muffler was firmly in place over his mouth to help with the freezing air he was breathing. They'd told him that it was better to breathe through the nose to warm up the air, but he didn't think he'd ever get in good enough shape to breathe normally during morning exercises.

After they finished and had breakfast, Harry followed Markus to Professor Sirko's office.

"Have you heard from Gabrielle lately?" Markus asked on the way.

"She sent a letter the day before yesterday, said to tell you, 'Hi.'"

"Thanks."

Harry caught the slightly softer voice as Markus asked, "Anyone say, 'Hi,' to you?"

"Nope, didn't expect it, either." Disappointment slipped through the stoic facade.

"Don't worry," Markus said. "The girls all say she's still taken with you."

"Yeah, but how do they know?"

"I have no idea," Markus answered. "You'd have to ask them, but I think it had something to do with the time they spent with Gabrielle."

Harry chuckled, remembering the morning she walked into the Dining Hall to meet them. He had just stood up from the table when he heard her . . .

**~ . ~ . ~**

"HARRY!"

The Dining Hall was half-full of students, most of who turned to watch a young beauty rocket toward him.

"Oomph!" Gabrielle cried out as she smacked up against him and stumbled backwards, rubbing her chest.

"When did you become a brick wall?"

He gestured to Markus. "The bloke's had me out running laps around the lake at five a.m. every bleedin' morning since I've been here."

"Whining again?" Markus asked from the other side of the table.

Harry's gesture caused quite a few laughs in the Dining Hall, most of whom were in earshot; but Gabrielle ignored it, instead making a little fist and punching Harry in the chest. "Nope, laps won't do that to you, but push-ups would."

She turned to the three Veela who had stood to meet her, barely able to hide her grin. "So, which one of you has let Harry do push-ups on you?"

Harry thought it would have been worth every Galleon sitting in his French Gringotts vault to see his Veela-chicks shocked into silence by a thirteen year old.

"Oh come on," Gabrielle teased, "You know he'd help any of you. I think he'd enjoy getting . . . behind you, if you just asked."

And the blushes they now sported were worth the Galleons in his other vault in England, but he figured that he'd better end it quickly, or he'd be the one enduring most of the embarrassment. "All right, enough from the mouthy French Veela," Harry cut in.

"Médée hasn't said a word," Azzurra answered.

"What?" Médée said.

Harry couldn't pass up the opportunity. "It must be the French trait."

"Better then the English traits, I think." Gabrielle clucked her tongue. "Looking at a twelve-year-old naked Veela this summer. Your own sister even; 'ave you no shame, 'Arry?"

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Médée turned to the young Veela with a look and grin that could only be called sinister. "Gabrielle, is it?".

"Yep."

"I think we're going to get along just fine." Her laughter echoed across the now empty Dining Hall after seeing the blood drain from Harry's face. "Cheeky Veela indeed."

"Who? Little innocent me? Is that what 'Arry is saying about his loving, adorable sister?"

Azzurra leaned into Harry. "I see what you mean."

Gabrielle eyed both of them. "What did 'e say? I may have to tell more embarrassing stories."

Gabrielle's threat left Azzurra making that cute giggling noise in the back of her throat again. "He said you were absolute trouble of the best kind, and I think he's right. Come, we have an hour or so before we're leaving, let's go talk about Harry Potter."

Gabrielle's face lit up. She threw Harry a mischievous grin, and walked out of the Dining Hall with the three older Veela.

Harry turned back around to Markus. "This can't be good."

"Better you than me."

He shook his head. "Thanks for coming to my defense, by the way."

"I know an unwinnable battle—you against four Veela? There's no way!"

**~ . ~ . ~**

Professor Sirko waved Markus and Harry to the two leather chairs that sat across from the large cherry desk. "So, tell me," he began without preamble, "in your estimation, what are the Dark Arts?"

Harry swallowed. "I really don't know anymore."

The Professor leaned back in his chair, settling himself in for what Harry knew would be another hour of "Let's Bajanx Everything Harry Knows about Magic and Maybe even Life." It seemed like Professor Sirko's favorite game.

"Then start by giving me an explanation of the Dark Arts."

"Any spell the British Ministry of Magic doesn't like." Harry smirked at the Professor, who seemed amused by the answer.

"That's actually a pretty good definition, but unfortunately, not one that illuminates our topic today."

"I could hex him if that'd help." Markus offered, standing up and rearranging the cushions on his chair.

"You could try; but you'd—wait . . . you're hinting that the Dark Arts are intent based?" Harry asked, catching on to the meaning behind Markus's threat. "So, if you decide to hurt someone with a spell, then it's dark?"

The Professor smiled, causing him to sigh. His world was about to be screwed with . . . again.

"So, according to what you just said, a tickling charm purposefully repeated until someone holds their stomach in pain from laughing too hard should be considered dark. Is that right?"

"I . . . well, I guess not. Is it not based on intention then?"

"I'm not sure about that either," the professor continued. "In order to cast a _Cruciatus _Curse, you have to intend to cause pain."

Harry exhaled and sat back in the chair. Professor Sirko noticed and gestured to him. "Have I messed with your head that much already?"

"Not really," he answered. "I just don't know much about the Dark Arts, or the defense against them. You know the history of my professors."

Professor Sirko grimaced. "I forget that your education on theory and the Dark Arts was substandard at best and practically non-existent at worst."

Markus snorted. "Maybe, but his practical application seems to be top-notch."

"True, but that wasn't learned in a classroom, was it Harry?"

"No, unfortunately, though if Markus wants a challenge . . ."

"Alright," the Professor said, steering the conversation back to the topic at hand. "Let's educate you in the theory. First things first, how would you describe Wizarding Britain's concept of the Dark Arts?"

"I don't know how they came to it, but it seems like they have a list of what is and is not dark. I guess, according to them, certain spells are dark simply because they are."

"That's exactly how pretty much all of Europe treats the Dark Arts. What criteria would you say they use?"

"Um, I guess the first would have to be original intent—what was it created to . . . but that can't be right, can it? I mean, a blasting spell may have been created to cause pain, but that doesn't make it dark."

"Very good, Harry," complimented Professor Sirko. "Original intent is important, but our understanding of the phrase usually isn't accurate. Most people define it only as the _reason_ a spell was created."

"There's more?" Harry asked, fascinated by the discussion in spite of himself.

"Absolutely; original intent is a combination of what the spell was created for, how it was created, and who created it. Voldemort could create a shoe-tying spell, and there's an eighty percent chance that, according to European Magical governments, it'd be dark."

"A shoe-tying spell? Come on," Harry said.

"Yes, shoe-tying spell. How did Voldemort develop his magical knowledge and ability? Was it from courting the Dark Arts, or from staying away from them?"

"Courting them, of course, but that doesn't mean—"

"It doesn't?" Professor Sirko asked, and leaned forward, setting his arms on the desk. "If the knowledge to learn magical shoe-tying came specifically from the things that he learned in the Dark Arts, then isn't the application of that magic also dark?"

"I . . . I guess it makes sense when you put it like that, but we're talking about tying a bloody shoe."

The Professor smirked. "If it's bloody, then it is most definitely a dark spell by the time it's done."

"Ha. Ha." Harry quipped, grinning at the gallows humor. "Okay, so what if someone learns the same spell, then uses it to bind a wound. Is it still dark, or is it light now?"

"Good question, but the presuppositions behind 'is a dark spell still dark when used for good' are numerous. The biggest one however, is your very concept of 'Light' and 'Dark'.

"Tell me Harry, do you believe there are two equal sides of magic? Is there a 'Light' side that fights for good, and a 'Dark' side that fights for bad? Or are there two sides that both fight for what they think are good, and both use the magic they think can bring about their sense of right?"

"But wait, if that's true,"—Harry's eyes slid to the side, looking over the Professor's shoulder as he thought about the consequences of the possibility—"Then everyone is just as right, and just as wrong as everyone else. That'd mean that bigoted Purebloods who murder Muggleborns are just as 'light' as those of us who are fighting against them."

"That's not what I asked," the professor corrected him. "What I wanted to know, is if you believe that there are two equal sides thinking they're right and are fighting to bring about their beliefs."

"Of course, if both sides didn't think they were right, they why would they be fighting?"

"Good. Now the next question, why only two sides?"

"Huh?"

Harry noticed the professor biting back a grin as he began to explain. "The problem with 'Light' and 'Dark' is that it comes out of a false dichotomy—a belief that a dualism exists where good and bad are equally strong and represented equally in society; a belief that magic attempts to balance the two sides. Do you see a problem with that?"

It was moments like these that Harry really missed Hermione—and Ron. She would have at least given him time to think about the answer by arguing some philosophical point, and Ron; he had moments of brilliance as well, though more often than not, he'd provide comic relief in a situation like this by asking to check Hermione's homework on the subject.

"Harry?" the Professor called his attention back.

"Sorry, um, yeah, I guess I do see a problem with it. If good and bad are opposite sides of the same coin, they're still part of the same coin—meaning 'Light' and 'Dark' are the same."

"Not bad," Markus interjected. "So if Dark is not the opposite of Light, then what is Dark, and what are the Dark Arts?"

"That; is exactly the question," Professor Sirko prompted. "What do you think, Harry?"

"Maybe they're a completely different set of Arts and have been labeled 'Dark' because of who originated them."

Professor Sirko shook his head. "Well reasoned, but no. What if I told you they are almost the exact same thing?"

"But you said—"

The Professor held up his hands and cut Harry off, "I know what I said."

Harry realized he was bouncing his legs in frustration and placed his feet flat on the plush carpet. "I give up. What are the Dark Arts then?"

"They're the lesser form."

"'Lesser?' What do you mean 'lesser'? The _Cruciatus _Curse others Voldemort hit me with sure didn't feel like lesser curses."

"That's not what the professor means," Markus cut in again. "Not lesser as in less powerful, but more like, well, they are a more corrupt form of the pure magic."

"What?" Harry scrunched his face in complete confusion. "You're not telling me that the Dark Arts are just less pure spells? It can't be that simple."

"It can't?" Markus asked as he slid to the end of his chair, his face slightly flushed in the excitement of the conversation. "Think about it this way—wait, maybe a little Muggle philosophy would help. Have you ever heard of St. Augustine?"

"Yeah, my Uncle plays golf on his course every year."

Markus and the Professor looked at each other in befuddlement.

Harry chuckled. "I'm British, of course I know of St. Augustine. He was the first archbishop of Canterbury. We were taught about him in Muggle school before I even got to Hogwarts, though he does have a golf course, it seems."

Markus rolled his eyes. "I'm talking about someone who lived a couple of centuries before him, and I doubt either of them owned a golf course"

"Tell my uncle that," Harry said, enjoying twisting Markus's tale. "No, All-Knowing Head-Boy, I'm not familiar with who you're talking about, though I have a feeling I'm going to be."

Markus fingered his wand with raised an eyebrow and Harry grinned widely.

"Enough posturing, just continue the lesson," The professor chided.

Markus removed his wand from sight. "Augustine said that 'evil' was a lesser good. Every person has a choice to attain the greater good, or the lesser good. Choosing the lesser good is evil, choosing the greater good is, well, good. Now apply that to magic. Is taking or preserving life the greater good?"

"It depends on the situation," Harry answered. "You'd never convince me that preserving Voldemort's life so he can kill a thousand others is part of a greater good."

"Exactly," Professor Sirko said, "and that, by the way, is why the killing curse is not considered part of the Dark Arts in times of war, even in England. It preserves life in the long run just as much as it takes away life."

"So what about the _Cruciatus_?" Harry asked.

"Can you think of a reason to use it that would be for a greater good?"

"To save a life, or torture an answer out of someone to save a life?"

"No," the Professor answered. "By doing that, first, you intentionally cause suffering and pain; second, you have to push it through hatred. Both of those things work against any greater good. Matter of fact, that's what Grindelwald forgot in his pursuit—The Greater Good is found in the journey as much as the destination."

"So you're saying hitting Voldemort with the _Cruciatus _Curse is wrong then?" Harry asked, thinking back to the graveyard.

"In a word, yes." the Professor answered, "but again, it's because that curse must be cast through hatred. That's the reason it and the _Imperius _Curse both considered Dark by origination alone."

"The _Imperius _Curse is driven by hatred too?"

"No," Professor Sirko said. "That one's driven by the wish to dominate someone else, to crush their will and have full and complete control over them. It is a more dangerous curse for the caster than even the _Cruciatus_, because it literally puts the person who cast it in the role of God over their victim."

Harry's eyes widened.

"What, surprised at the mention of God?" The Professor asked.

"Yeah, kind of."

"If evil is the bastardizing of the Greater Good, then who established the Greater Good in the first place?"

"But, but," Harry struggled to put his thoughts together. "How do we know which God, or how many there are, or whether we can even trust him or her or them?"

"Those are all very good questions, but we're not actually speaking of theology here, so whatever you believe about God or gods, it doesn't matter as it concerns the Greater Good vs. the Lesser Good and how our magic reacts to it. What matters, is the fact that in casting a curse like the _Imperius, _we're putting ourselves in a place that is not ours to hold, a place generally ascribed to God or a higher power or nature or even chance, however defined—wouldn't you agree that's definitely a lesser good?

Harry nodded. Though surprised at the turn in the conversation, it did make sense to him. Over the last few weeks, he was beginning to sense the difference between the Dark Arts and other magic, and this way of looking at it really helped, but he was still unclear about a few things. "So then, a lesser good is determined by original intent, by what the spell achieves, and/or how it was created."

"And now we are back at the beginning of our conversation, though in a vastly different way." Professor Sirko answered. "When Voldemort creates his shoe-tying spell, do you think he does it in pursuit of a greater good, or in pursuit of a lesser good, and does he use dark arts, which is part of the lesser good, to create the spell?"

"Probably a lesser good and dark magic."

"So then is his fictional shoe-tying spell dark magic?"

"I guess so," Harry answered.

"Now think about how easy of a jump it is to only focus on origination—many spells could be used for both the Greater and Lesser good, but since they were associated with Voldemort, they were listed as Dark by the British Ministry of Magic."

"Like the Killing Curse," Harry said, making the connection.

"Exactly, we've already discussed why there's no law against that curse in time of war," Professor Sirko said, "but there's another layer here. The lists of 'Light' and 'Dark' spells aren't as valid in central Europe, and in Eastern Europe and the Americas there are very few if any curses that are immediately listed as Dark."

Harry was shaking his head now, beginning to feel overloaded. "So what you're saying is that the way Britain has done it for years is wrong? The system I've been taught is completely Bollixed?"

"Not at all. After facing too many Dark Lords, your Ministry of Magic did the same thing that Muggle Europe did after World War Two."

At Harry's blank look, he continued. "Europe had to cope with the wholesale slaughter of a third of the Jewish race, upwards of ninety percent of the Roma people—you probably know them as Gypsies—and a couple million Christians from Eastern Europe, among others. As a result, the European countries decided that putting people to death was too horrid to think about regardless of the reason, so they stopped the death penalty as punishment for crimes.

"In the same way, Magical Britain saw so many curses being used in a Dark manner, not to mention the ones created in Dark Magic, that they banned them all. It's neither right nor wrong, but a reaction to their history—especially after the war with Voldemort."

Harry ran his hands through his hair. "Okay, let's see if I got this—what you're telling me, is that the Dark Arts are both an entity that can be used to create spells, and also a collection of spells that represent the Lesser Good from the Greater Good, a good that no one really knows how to explain or even define, may or may not come from a God, Goddess, or gods, and every society has their own idea of what it consists of, based on their own history; is that about it?"

Markus chuckled. "Confusing, isn't it? But that's the entire point. There is no simple right or wrong; no 'this is,' or 'is not' the Dark Arts. Even the _Cruciatus _and _Imperius _Curses can be used in ways that at the very least, flirt with a greater good, rather than a lesser good, just as you did in the graveyard by saving the French Champion."

"But Professor Sirko just said—" Harry began in a louder voice, his leg bouncing again.

"He's right," Professor Sirko cut him off. "Your hatred against Voldemort was used to protect life. Hatred is a lesser good, but it was used to achieve a greater good—the journey left you only with choices originating out of a series of lesser goods, so you had to choose the best one, or to put it another way, you had to choose between the lesser of two evils."

Harry rubbed his head. "I'm starting to understand why the Ministry of Magic just had a list."

"It does make it easier, doesn't it?" Professor Sirko agreed. "That's why I can't call that method wrong, especially when trying to govern an entire society. Now," he said, changing topics slightly, "I told you that I could teach you where the line is concerning the Dark Arts. Can you guess at it from this discussion?"

Harry thought back to his lessons over the last few months and the conversation he'd just had. "It's the choice to take the lesser good over the greater good, and using whatever means to do it in the journey."

"Well done. Remember, anger and hatred can be channeled to do good things—or at least the greater of the lesser good—or they can be channeled to drive and control magic in a way that is less than what your magic was originally meant for."

"But, it can't be that easy," Harry protested.

"You're right, it's not. Think of this as the beginning point in your journey. I know you're beginning to feel your magic flow through you now. You're also probably feeling that there are many ways you can go with your magic. You can take shortcuts and achieve great things for yourself, or you can do right by it. It is those types of choices that will drive who you become, but that is more experiential than academic."

Harry's head felt like it was about to explode. This lesson was more like drinking from a Muggle fire hose.

"Come on, Harry," Markus said, standing up. Harry looked at the clock on the Professor's desk and noticed that the hour was already up. He followed Markus out the door after the Professor cuffed Harry on the back of the shoulder.

"Don't worry, it's a lot to take in, but you seem to have a handle on it already."

Harry wasn't too sure about that, but he remained silent as he stepped into the hallway.

"So, ready for your first Quidditch game this weekend?" Markus asked. Harry was happy for the topic change.

"Yeah, though I think my brain is too heavy for the broom right now."

"Understandable. Let's go take your mind off it with a little fighting practice—no wands. You still need a lot of work fighting Muggle-style."

** X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Thank you."

Fleur watched Paige smile at the waiter, hoping that she would focus on him a little more, and her a lot less. She knew that wouldn't happen though, and she wasn't looking forward to seeing the concern that looked more like pity in Paige's eyes; the worry laying flat the playful nymph Paige usually resembled.

"I could have ordered for myself," Fleur protested as the waiter left. Her eyes followed, noticing the low-lit room; couples sitting together in whispered conversations and sharing special looks reserved for that special person.

Fleur grimaced and pulled her eyes back as Paige spoke. "I wasn't sure if you could anymore."

"Leave it alone, Paige."

"Like hell. You're my cousin and my best friend; when was the last time you ate?"

"This morning."

"I'm not talking about a quarter of a croissant and half a cup of tea."

Fleur glared at her. "You went behind my back and spoke to my maman?"

"Knock off the pig-headed attitude, will you?" Paige asked, returning a glare. "She came to me because she's worried about you."

Fleur snorted in response. Why couldn't people just leave well enough alone? "So what, you dragged me here for a lecture?"

"If that's what it takes . . . look Fleur, you've withdrawn from everyone; you don't answer when people call through the Floo for you; you won't go out with anyone when they stop by; and you've basically stopped eating; it's even having an effect on your magic."

"My magic is fine," Fleur whispered.

Paige returned a snort and finished off her first glass of wine. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The question hung in the air as the waiter came back to the table and refilled their glasses. Fleur couldn't help but let her mind drift. How had a black-haired little boy become the man she longed to hear say her name, to hear him confess his love for her? How long would it have been before she heard him confess it if she hadn't played those damned foolish games?

"It doesn't help," Paige said, gesturing to her arms.

She looked down to see them wrapped around herself. Paige reached across the table and took her hand. "You can't keep doing this, Fleur. You're wasting away, and I'm not just talking about the fact that you can barely keep your robes on your shoulders anymore."

"So what should I do?" Fleur spouted in a nasty voice, "Go wand-bounce on the waiter? That what you always do isn't it?"

"Insults aren't going to get me to leave you alone, though you're going to get a hell of a good hexing later—"

"Hmpff."

Paige raised an eyebrow. "You might be the more powerful Veela, but I'm quicker with a wand and if you don't knock it off—"

"I'm sure there's a reason you're so quick with your inflexible eleven inch wand—"

Luckily, the waiter interrupted again with dinner. Fleur glanced down to see a plate of chicken, cooked in a wine sauce with mushrooms and a slight hint of garlic. Her stomach flipped and she pushed the plate away.

"You're going to eat that, or I'm going to open your mouth and shove it down your throat. It's your choice."

Fleur glared at Paige again.

"Don't think I won't, and you've insulted me enough tonight that I'd enjoy doing it, too."

Fleur caught her breath, then released it as her shoulders sank, knowing Paige was right. "I'm sorry, Paige. I just . . ."

"Don't worry about it. Eat."

Fleur pulled the plate back and decided that eating to gain silence was a fair trade. Her stomach settled down after the first couple of bites, allowing her mind to wander. She began thinking about her transformation from cold, strong Fleur to . . . this. What had happened to her over the last year? More importantly, was it even worth the pain?

_Of course it was_. _At least I can be honest with myself now; even if that means admitting I'm the one being rejected, instead of rejecting others. _

The corner of her lip pulled up slightly, though without humor, at the irony. A few minutes later, the nausea returned. Fleur put her fork down and pushed the plate away.

"There, see? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Paige asked.

"Yeah, it was. It's been bad ever since he left."

"Do you want to talk about it now?"

"What good will it do? I miss him."

"Well, that's a start, at least you admit it now," Paige said.

Fleur let out a sarcastic harrumph. "When we were at the Burrow, I worried that I was falling for him because we were caught up together in a bad situation, but now that he's gone, I wish we were back there. Everything was innocent and sweet—I feel like it's all been destroyed and yet . . . I just don't know what to do about, or if I can do anything about it."

"What do you mean you 'don't know what to do'? Come on, Fleur, it's simple; take your considerably diminishing ass up to Durmstrang and be honest with him. Tell him you're sorry and shove your tongue down his throat."

"It's not that easy!" Fleur hissed. "He rejected me, okay? _He _rejected _me. _He has his own things he has to do and I don't figure into them."

"I doubt that," Paige said after a few seconds, "but let's say it's true. Then why don't you just get over it? Release the mark and move on with your life."

"I can't," Fleur said in a small voice.

"I didn't hear you."

"I said I can't." she repeated a little louder, and bit sharper as well.

"Why not?"

"Why do you think? I've . . . oh god, how did this happen? I've fallen in love with him, I . . . I cried over him."

Paige choked on her wine; she snatched a napkin from the table with one hand while putting the glass down with the other.

"You cried?"

Fleur sighed. "Yeah, with him one time; because of him quite a few times. Are you finished choking?"

"Think so. How . . . when?"

"I cried with him when I found out that Madam Maxime was killed. I couldn't help it. I already figured that Jean-Paul and Arlette and Francios and everyone else were dead. Later the next evening, Harry's friends told me that they helped form an inner ring as a last defense for the Professors the night of the third task.

"But that next morning in the Burrow, after seeing so much horror, so much killing, after watching the night before as Harry dragged the bodies of his friends together so they wouldn't be alone in death . . . and the fighting. I was sick to my stomach at the curses I was casting, but I couldn't show it to anyone, especially not Harry."

Paige's eyes widened, the issue of Fleur crying over Harry seemingly forgotten for a moment. "What curses did you—

"Every curse I knew."

"Every? As in—"

"Yes, Paige; _Every _curse."

"Fleur! How could you? That's illegal!"

The silverware jumped off the table as Fleur's fist hit it. "_He _was killing him!"

She leaned back against the booth, thankful that its height provided privacy and took a couple of breaths to calm herself, then pinned Paige with a withering glare as she spoke through clenched teeth. "They had no intention of letting him leave from the graveyard. He took more curses than I thought possible, and then still had the strength in him to curse Voldemort and to drive him to his knees. He saved my life."

Fleur leaned forward in the chair, eyes beginning to blaze. "I cast the Killing Curse many times that night, and I'd do it again in an instant to save his life."

"Even if it meant you ended up in their hideous version of a prison with Dementors?"

"If it meant that Harry was safe; or even that he lived? Absolutely!"

Paige sat back in her seat and smiled. "You really do love him, don't you?"

Fleur deflated. "Yeah, but that's the problem."

"How's that a problem? Don't you want to love him?"

"I do, but he doesn't want me too—he wants no one to care of him. All he ever did was push me away when I tried, but if it was about me . . . when I found out about Madame Maxime, he acted like there was no one else in the room. You should have seen it, Paige. He marched across that room and wrapped his arms around me, every muscle in his chest taught in a protective embrace. I could feel the fire burning in him, he had no shirt on and—"

"Wait a second!" A hint of the playful nymph returned. "You can't skip over the newfound love of your life standing there shirtless with his arms wrapped around you!"

"It's not how it sounds. The . . . others were checking us over. Then someone came to the back door and I watched him threaten the head of the magical law enforcement and—"

"He what?"

"You heard me; he stood there, shirtless, with blood vessels spider-webbed across his chest from the cursings, but he thought someone he loved was being threatened. He drew his wand and was ready to go at it with the head of their entire office of magical law enforcement. She had that look that says 'I've done it all'—and he didn't care.

"A bit later, she confirmed that Madame Maxime was killed. That's when the reality hit me. 'Arry came across the kitchen, pulled me into him, and held me. I cried Paige, I cried in his arms and . . . and I felt safe.

"Two days later, I did something stupid and ended up crying over him for the first time. I still do, almost every night."

Fleur fell silent. Paige finished her glass of wine and put enough Galleons on the table to cover the bill. "Come on; let's get out of here and take a walk."

They stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night breeze blowing across the Wizarding Street of Marseille. Walking along the Mediterranean Sea, Fleur could taste the salty tang in the air.

"So you cried in his arms, and also cried for him?" Paige asked after a few minutes.

"Yeah, some Veela I turned out to be; so much for being dominant, matriarchal, and in control of the relationship."

Paige rolled her eyes. "That's not even true for full Veela. Maybe you should've taken the Veela courses with me instead of teasing me about them."

Fleur stopped and leaned over the sea wall, looking out into the distance where the blue ocean met the dark sky that was lit up by a three-quarter moon. She picked absentmindedly at the top of the barrier, trying not to think about watching Harry from her window all summer as he built his walls.

"I don't need a course to know what it means when a Veela cries . . . Anyway, what does this have to do with Harry?" she asked.

Paige pulled Fleur around to face her. "We didn't just study Veela history in those classes; we studied Veela and human psychology as well—the similarities and differences of how we think. We focused on male humans for obvious reasons.

"So this has everything to do with Harry; you already told me what he went through and everyone he lost on top of losing his parents years before. How abandoned do you think he felt? Then, over his protests, the one person still alive that fought with him in the graveyard, the witch he was falling for, decided to join the group that was dedicated to fighting the very people who killed his parents, his roommates parents, and, if I remember what you said, His best friends' uncles as well.

"He was reacting to you because he didn't want to lose you. God, how can you be so blind? He waited at the bottom of lake to rescue a little girl he didn't even know, how else would you expect him to react to the person he found himself falling in love with? Especially when you joined whatever it was you joined—the same organization that ended up getting so many people he cared about killed."

"But it made sense!" Fleur protested. "We needed a connection with them and needed to know what they were doing so we would know when to go back."

"We?" Paige snapped, anger flashing across her face. "You were planning on going back with him?"

"Of course! He couldn't even sleep through a night without me in his bed after the graveyard. I couldn't let him go back and face that alone."

Fleur turned her back to the ocean, and looked up beyond the busy street to the lights of the city that glowed in the cloudless sky above. "I pushed my magic out to help him sleep."

Paige giggled. "I'm sure he had some nice dreams."

"More than that, probably."

"What. . . oh god Fleur, please tell me you didn't."

Fleur lowered her head. Despite her best efforts, tears began to run down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Paige said as she pulled Fleur into a hug.

She fought to gain control of her emotions. "The thing is, I'd do it again; I'd push that part of my magic out for him in an instant."

"Was he accepting of it?"

"It felt that way."

"Then how do you know he's rejected you?"

"Just everything, I guess. You know, he wouldn't even let me help him - everything I tried to do, he rejected." Fleur looked at Paige again. "When we were at the Ministry, Uncle Philippe and the others wanted us to go back into the memories and narrate them. I didn't see any reason 'Arry should have to suffer again and said so, but instead, he turned it around on me and left me sitting on the couch while he dove headfirst into them, like he was courting the pain."

"And?"

"What do you mean, 'and'?" Fleur demanded. "He did that kind of stuff all the time."

"And you wanted what? For him to come to you, open up to you and share his deep-dark secrets so you could help him, save him from his pain?"

"YES!"

"So, you're telling me you expected a white knight to act like a damsel in distress?"

Fleur stared at Paige silently, the words sinking in despite the way they stung.

"Fleur, given time, most men will open up to a Veela and tell her his deepest secrets, but only after he truly loves her. It can't be forced. That's something else we learned."

"Great, and that's something else I did wrong. Like I said, I make a great Veela - probably the only one alive that's driven away the very person I . . . I love."

"Forget about all that and answer me this, what would you do if he came walking up the street now, grabbed you, and planted his lips on yours?"

"We'd stay up all night . . . with me hexing the magic out of him first, and then kissing him better."

"Figures," Paige said and took Fleur's arm. "Come on, we need to get back to the public Floo before it closes, but you know you can't blame 'Arry for this, don't you?"

"Why's that?"

"You gave of yourself, Fleur. We both sat out our grandmother's feet and learned about it, so I know you know. You opened both your Veela magic and your love to him and bathed him in it."

Fleur stopped and glared at Paige again. "Of course I know that! Why do you think I can't eat? Why do you think I'm going through all this? I wake up every morning—if you ever repeat this, they won't even find your feathers, do you understand me?"

Paige nodded.

"It's why I wake up every morning and go down to his room, hoping it was a dream, or hoping that he came back in the middle of the night. Every morning, he's not there, and I go back to my room and hold on to his jersey and cry."

"Go to Durmstrang. Go and tell him, Fleur."

"No. Everything I've done's been wrong and I'm finished fighting. If someone or something is in control of all this, we'll be together if we're supposed to be."

"And instead, you sit around and pine away for him, even as your family visited him a week ago and plan on going back next week to see him play Quidditch."

"Yeah, that's about it, I guess. I've already told you, I'm the worst Veela around. I can't even hold on to a man three years younger than me."

"You're wrong, Fleur. You had a lot of choices as a Veela, but the one you took . . . you and I both know the gift you gave 'Arry by opening your love and magic to him, and when problems began, you didn't rely on your Veela magic to smooth it over, even as it hurt. It's . . ." Paige chuckled, "ironic, I guess. It's noble, Fleur."

"Yeah, well, like my sister says, nobility can kiss my cute little ass."

Paige laughed as they turned the corner and walked up to the public Floo. "She's getting to be a handful, isn't she?"

Fleur rolled her eyes. "The first time this summer I saw her after her transformation, she tilted her head and looked up under her eyebrows at me. I knew that moment that she was going to be trouble."

"Admit it," Paige said as she stepped up to the Floo. "You'd have it no other way."

Fleur stepped up next to her. "I wouldn't, except for the part where she keeps telling me off and calling me a selfish bitch for how I treated Harry."

"I hope she never changes."

Fleur laughed for the first time that evening. "Neither do I."

Paige took a handful of Floo powder and cocked her wrist back to throw it in the fireplace, but she stopped and turned back to Fleur. "You know, Gabrielle's right about something else, too."

"What's that?" Fleur asked.

"You need to go with her to see 'Arry. Just take that first step and see where it leads."

Fleur was about to argue when Paige threw her powder into the Floo, stepped in, and disappeared, leaving Fleur to ponder Paige's last words.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry sat at the dining table, the butterflies in his stomach feeling more like bees stinging him from the inside.

"Do you usually get this worked up before a game?" Jaleena asked.

"I don't think it's the game 'e's worried about," Médée answered, gesturing to Gabrielle's letter in Harry's hands. "Anything interesting?"

"Not really."

"Liar," Jaleena said. "You got about a third of the way through the letter and the blood drained from your face, even as your emotions"—she paused; Harry could tell she was sensing something in him as she looked directly into his eyes—"conflicted, excitement and worry are mixed together, as if - is someone coming to see you play tomorrow? Someone special?" she asked.

Médée's eyes widened at the implication and she leaned into Harry to read over his shoulder.

He glanced at her. "Maybe Gabby was right about the push-ups, if you like being so close."

She pecked him on the cheek. "Would you rather 'get behind' me now or later?"

Harry cursed the blush that showed itself again.

"Sorry, 'Arry, but Azzurra was right, you're too cute when you blush, even though you are English."

That's it. It's time to put an end to the teasing and blushing! He faced Médée. "I'd rather have you on your back with your ankles pinned behind your ears. That way, I can see you since you're _just too cute _when you're having fun."

Médée's jaw dropped.

"YES!" Harry yelled and thrust his hands in the air. "Victory! Finally!" He silently thanked Seamus, wherever he was in the ever-after, for that particular line.

Azzurra walked up to the table and sat down next to a bemused Jaleena. "What's Harry going on about?"

"It seems he and Médée are in negotiations; Harry just shocked her with his opening position." Jaleena smirked. "Though he's going to be surprised when he finds out she likes being shocked while 'negotiating.'"

Harry's arms hit the table as he stared Jaleena, her eyes blazing with mirth. Harry blushed fiercely; his victory now hollow and short-lived.

"Who's the letter from?" Azzurra asked, to his relief.

"Gabby," Jaleena answered, "Harry was about to tell us why he was so nervous reading it."

"Anything we should know?" Azzurra pressed. "Fleur's not coming to watch you play tomorrow night, is she?"

"How did . . ."—he forced himself to form a coherent thought, and came up with a name—"Gabrielle! She's been sending you owls, hasn't she?"

"Who, little innocent me?" Azzurra asked with a smile.

Harry shook his head and started in on his lunch, pondering his Veela-chicks scheming against him. He was in serious trouble. "Yeah, she is, not that it's news to you, it seems."

Médée mussed his hair. "It a surprise to me, not as much as your negotiation skills, but—"

"Alright, let it go!" He moaned.

Médée grinned, "Sorry, so what were we talking about? Oh yeah, how we didn't know Fleur's coming to watch you play Seeker against my guys tonight."

Harry shook his head at her.

"I didn't know either, if that helps," Jaleena said. "And don't worry, Harry, you'll be fine."

"I guess, but I don't know what to say to her since I didn't really leave on the best of terms."

He thought he heard a slight sigh from Azzurra before she looked at him. "Should I even ask?"

"The truth?" Harry said. "I didn't even tell her I was leaving. She went to work in the morning and I packed up, told the Delacours I was leaving during lunch, then too the Portkey before she got home."

Azzurra and Jaleena shared a look as Médée tsk-tsk'ed Harry. "That wasn't a smart move, I think."

"Yeah, I know that now. Azzurra kinda taught me the first night not to duck out from an angry Veela—it just winds you all up even more."

Azzurra shot him a smug grin. "Glad you learned. So what are you going to say to her tomorrow?"

"He could offer her the same opening position he offered me."

Harry's cheeks tinged red again at Médée's teasing. "I have no idea. Maybe I'll get lucky, crash my broom, and knock myself out for a few hours. It's been known to happen."

"I thought you said you were a good flier," Médée asked.

"I am, but when you're chasing the Snitch, I'm sure you've all watched Viktor take risks." Azzurra and Jaleena both averted their eyes. "I shouldn't've brought him up, I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Jaleena answered, her voice wistful. "He was a good friend." She forced a smile, and then excused herself from the table.

"I didn't mean to upset her," he said to no one in particular. "Maybe I should go after her."

"There's nothing you can do." Azzurra answered. "She loved him much like Gabrielle loves you." At the contemplative look on Harry's face, Azzurra continued. "They're distantly related through marriage or something and Jaleena knew him before they came to school. Since Viktor was a year older, he took care of her that first year, holding her hand when they arrived and escorting her to every class that first week. That's just the type of relationship they had."

"And they never . . ." Harry began, but didn't know how to ask.

"No," Azzurra answered. "They never dated, though I often thought they belonged together. Viktor was, um . . . how do you say in English, lordly, brusque?

"Surly?" Harry offered.

"Yeah, Jaleena could do away with it in a minute. She seemed to be the only that could, and she always lit up when it happened too."

Harry thought about Ron and Hermione again, though it was almost the exact opposite, no one seemed to enjoy winding each other up as much as those two did. "I understand."

** X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

". . . Fly hard, fly fast, we'll beat their ass!"

Harry smiled. Oliver Wood had nothing on this guy, even if he was banging on in French, which was amusing in itself. Harry's forced immersion in the language had actually paid off. His accent was so-so at best, but he could understand most of what was being said in any conversation now.

". . . And we're going to do it for Viktor!"

Of course, there's nothing like a reminder that he was filling the shoes of a world-cup Seeker to settle the nerves.

Markus, sitting next to him on the bench leaned over. "You ready, Harry?"

He nodded. "Sure, though I'm not used to seeking with all this gear on. Even in the middle of the winter we didn't wear this much."

"I'm sure, but you weren't a Threstral's piss away from the Arctic Circle and playing in sub-zero temperature, were you?"

"True. Could you help me with this?"

"Yeah," Markus said. "Stand up."

Harry did so and Markus spent the next couple of minutes adjusting his robe, pulling the hood over his hair–Harry had learned the necessity of tucking it when it was long–and generally trying to make sure there was no exposed skin.

"I think that's it," Markus said. "I'll cast the charm."

Harry felt the spell hitting him. It felt like a lightweight mold of his body being put into place, stopping his equipment from moving and sealing out the cold air.

"Now remember, even though it's your broom, it's going to feel a little strange to you because the air is much thinner up here–which I know you've practiced in–but it is also much colder."

"Yes, mom."

Markus narrowed his eyes. "I'm serious. Your maneuverability is not going to be the same as you're used to; it's even different than flying in the day time when it's warmer."

"Really? I didn't know the laws of nature changed outside of Britain."

"Keep it up and I'll hex you as you sleep."

"I don't forget to use my wards," he said, with a slightly devious smile.

"Whatever." Markus thrust Harry's broomstick into his arms. "Don't try any Wronski Feints or other tricks, or we might be scraping you off the frozen ground before the night's over."

"At least I'd have a couple of feet of new snow to land in."

Markus stopped and looked at him, then chuckled. "That's the spirit. Sorry, I'm just used to doing this with . . ."

"It's okay, I'm used to doing this with a few people who aren't here either."

They shared a look of mutual loss before Markus nodded to the rest of the team who were walking out the. Harry followed them out and down the hall, thinking about how different it felt not to be flying with the twins, or Angelina, Alicia, and Katie.

As he stepped out on the pitch, he noticed the cheers muffled by the falling snow that shone a brilliant white in the lights of the stadium. To his far right was the school and to his far left, were the mountains that sat on the north side of the valley. It seemed as though they had built the stadium right into the side of the mountain.

The other players mounted their brooms and Harry followed, pushing off and relishing the familiarity of his Firebolt. Markus was right however, it did feel extra sluggish tonight, so as his team took a few minutes to warm up, Harry put his broom through its paces, weaving in and out of an imaginary obstacle course faster and faster until he was comfortable with how it responded to his touch.

Finished, he pulled the broom around to gaze at the stadium and gather his bearings before the game started. His first impression months ago still held true, it was smaller than the stadium at Hogwarts, but everything screamed of quality, from the professional goal rings to the stands that were now filled with students and even a few parents and siblings, including a beaut—

"Oh bugger!"

Fleur was sitting about a third of the way up, next to her father. Her mother and Gabrielle were sitting on Mr. Delacour's other side, with Azzurra, Médée, and Jaleena sitting behind them. Fleur was wrapped up in a heavy cloak and her chin was tucked inside a muffler, but her cheeks were rosy pink from the cold, in stark contrast to the heavenly blue eyes that were now fixed on his own.

Harry was lost in a sea of emotions and memories as he stared at the young woman that risked her life for him, that even raced across a field of battle to spirit him away, risking splinching herself for him. She was so beautiful that it haunted him in his dreams, though he refused to tell anyone about it. Yet, it was that same beauty, both inside and out (despite the last month he stayed in France), that drove him away from her, a beauty that he didn't dare mar with stains of blood and the stench of death that lie in his future.

If he were to be honest with himself however, the love that he could see in those eyes staring back at him was the only thing holding him back from losing himself in the Dark Arts. All the training, the lessons in theory, the growth in magic, it only fed the hunger to collect the blood-debts owed him, regardless of what good it was or what path it took. At night when he closed his eyes however, he saw her coming closer to him, her lips pursed as he fell into the ocean of blue before the green light flared in the Burrow—

"HARRY!"

He snapped his head around, then rolled to the side, and pushed his broom down; barely avoiding the Bludger as he realized the game had started.

Harry shook his head, dove to gain speed, and then pulled up on the broom, ascending to a position even with the top of the magical lights surrounding the stadium. There he circled, waiting, looking for the Snitch, and watching the game below.

Quidditch was different here. From the little he remembered Dean Thomas saying, he could see elements of football strategy being used, which seemed a bit strange. Beaters joined the Chasers on rushes, with the person carrying the Quaffle always ahead of the others. It made for safe backward passes and excellent blocking maneuvers.

Harry yanked on his broom again and dodged another Bludger sent at him from a rather large beater just before Harry's team scored.

The inbound pass was quick and the game was on again. Out of the corner of Harry's eye, he saw the other Seeker shoot across the pitch. Harry leaned forward and pushed his broom faster, keeping a wary lookout for feints and other ploys.

In the background, the crowd noise increased as the two Seekers raced through the air. Soon enough however, Harry realized the shorter Polish Seeker was testing him. There were two ways to react, break off the chase, or continue to follow.

He liked neither option, so he decided to create a third. Harry snapped his head back to his right fast enough that he heard his own neck pop. He leaned over and yanked hard on the broom until he looped back around and was facing the larger part of the pitch and stadium again. Then he pushed his broom down and to the left, then back up, and back down to the right again, imitating chasing a Snitch.

The other Seeker realized that Harry wasn't following him and came back around, now in the chase position. Harry pushed his broom down again, and raced towards the ground. The other Seeker followed, just above Harry. It was perfect positioning to avoid being caught in a Wronski Feint, but that suited Harry just fine. He pushed his broom faster, leaning his entire body to the side now and pulling hard again on the broom, to race back across the field about ten feet off the ground. He risked a glance behind him to make sure the other Seeker was still following.

Gaining altitude, Harry aimed for the bottom of his own goal, and then dove underneath it at the last second. The other Seeker had to push down hard to avoid severing himself on the ring, but now he was flying straight into the ground. He pulled up on the broom just in time and continued to follow Harry for a split second too long, who now yanked up again, and barely cleared the wall fifteen feet behind the goal rings, rocketing up over the stands and into the night. Behind him, the other Seeker couldn't pull out fast enough and caught the top of the wall with the tip of the broom, cart wheeling into the stands.

The crowd roared in appreciation of what would later be known at Durmstrang as "The Wall Shot" or "The Potter Dip and Pull Ploy."

Harry came back to his normal position, circling the field and looking for the Snitch when he happened to catch those entrancing eyes again. They were locked on him now, a little wide, but also hazed over with memories he could only guess at; the flight from Hogwarts to the cave; the escape from the Burrow; maybe even the first task and the dragon . . .

The cheering crowd drew him back to the moment. He chastised himself for not focusing and quickly looked around for the other Seeker. Thankfully, he was flying gingerly another thirty or forty yards higher than Harry. Another cheer went up and Harry looked down, noticing his team had scored again. They were a seventy points in the lead, and an hour into the game by this point.

Sometime later, the temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees as the nighttime air leached any remaining heat from the valley. Harry was readjusting himself on his broom when a streak of gold shot straight over his head from behind. Harry lay flat, pulling his legs out of the metal stirrups and gripping the end of the broom handle with his insteps to cut wind drag. He tore through the air; snow swirling around him in large eddies. The golden streak dove down toward the snow and Harry followed, streaking across the pitch just a couple of feet high, so fast a furrow was created in the new snow that lay on the ground, twin tales kicking up behind him.

The other Seeker followed, but he had no hope of catching Harry. The Snitch jinked up and Harry pulled his broom vertical as the Snitch went ballistic. He shot through five hundred feet of freezing cold air before leveling out in a shallow dive, then repositioned himself just behind the Snitch when he noticed the other Seeker was a few feet behind him, having guessed at the Snitch's path and took the angle instead.

Pushing his broom faster, Harry reached out, but the Snitch moved a foot to the left and continued to streak forward. He stretched, adjusting his position on the broom, but the Snitch seemed to have other plans, and shot back right.

Harry had no idea why the other Seeker had fallen back, but he caught a look that was a cross between awe and fear.

The Snitch dropped and Harry pushed his broom into a barrel-role and swiped at it, just missing again. He ignored the change in lighting as the Snitch shot out beyond the stadium. He reached out one more time, and as the Snitch dodged back to the right, Harry swiped it out of the air.

He barely registered that he had caught it when he and his broom crumpled into something very hard.

"He's coming around."

"It's about time," A relieved feminine voice answered.

"It was very nice of you and your family to stay with him all week," the first voice said.

"After what he's done for us, it's the least I could do."

Harry managed a moan and had a straw shoved in his mouth for his effort.

"Take small sips, just enough to wet the insides of your cheeks."

"How are you feeling?" The kinder, softer voice asked after Harry finished.

"Mrs. 'elachour?" he rasped.

He felt a gentle touch on his forehead and a thumb that caressed his eyebrow once. "Yeah, it's me. We've been staying with you in shifts after you decided to give the face of the mountain a kiss last week."

Harry's eyes came wide open now. "How long?"

"It's Thursday, so it's been about six days. We were very worried about you the first forty-eight hours; you were almost moved to the regional Magical Hospital.

"No reason worry, 'uidditch, me, an' hos'ital—chommon happenings," Harry said, then wondered why he couldn't get his mouth to form the words properly.

The door opened. "You called for me, Healer Glasov?"

"Da. Patient woke up few minutes ago. You asked to be informed no matter the time."

Harry noticed an old, gruff wizard in a white coat. "He is bruised-up mess, but will get better. No permanent damage."

"That's good to hear," Professor Sirko said in a tired voice. He walked over to Harry. "Hell of a show you put on."

"Should've charged," Harry answered. The Professor and Mrs. Delacour laughed, betraying just how relieved they felt.

He looked back at Mrs. Delacour, "Why s'ill here? I mean, thank you, 'ut you didn't have to . . ."

She put a comforting hand on his. "Remember what we told you last summer? It didn't end when you came to school, 'Arry. We weren't going to leave you alone until you woke up."

"We?" he asked.

"Fleur stayed here the first two days. She even hexed her father when he told her to go home and rest."

"Oh, that's . . ." His voice faded out as the realization struck him.

Mrs. Delacour let slip a sweet but slightly devious laugh. "Interesting dreams again?"

"Hmpff," Harry managed as his cheeks began to burn, despite the swelling and bruising.

She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. He closed his eyes and for a split second, could feel his own mother's lips there instead, comforting him.

"'Eal up, 'Arry. The Christmas party is only a few weeks away. I've checked with the 'eadmaster and that's the day you start Christmas break, so I expect to see you there." She flashed him a brilliant smile.

She looked away from him. "Thank you, 'Eadmaster, for taking care of 'Arry this semester. You too, 'Ealer Glasov. Could you pass my appreciation to the three young Veela and the young man as well? They've been great since I've been here."

"I'm sure they already know how much you appreciate them," Professor Sirko answered, "but I will do so."

Mrs. Delacour gave Harry one last cautious hug, not wanting to hurt him and then Professor Sirko escorted her out of the infirmary.

He returned to Harry's bedside a few minutes later. "So how much do you remember?"

"I 'as tsasing ze Snitch—'y chan't I zpeak right?"

"You broke just about every bone on the right side of your face, including your cheek, the orbital bones around the eye, your nose, and your jaw. A number of bones on the left side were cracked as well. Skele-Gro took care of most of it, but you're still badly bruised. It'll take a few more days before you're better.

"I'm also sorry to say, there was no rescuing your glasses."

"Wha' I hi'?"

The professor shook his head. "The mountain; you're flying was amazing, up to the point where you went head first into the rock face. It's a three-hundred foot drop straight down from where you hit. You're lucky the other Seeker held up and was watching you. He was able to get his wand out in time to stop you from falling to your death."

"Than' him for me."

"I will, though he's been by a couple of times to check on you as well, so you'll probably see him yourself. Anyway, we couldn't find your glasses, so we did a little testing and got you something better."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and then groaned.

"Even that hurts?"

"Uh, huh."

"Not surprising."

"Ha, ha." Harry quipped. "Glasses?"

"Yeah, like I said, we got something better. See these?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the professor, who began laughing.

"I guess you can't, eh? Anyway, they're magically enhanced contacts. A few days ago we took three separate scans of your eyes. A Muggle company made these, and then we took them to a Magical medical research facility that made them into permanent correctives."

"Fast."

"One of our professors' relatives is a Squib who works in the industry; he slipped the prescription on top of the pile for us. When your swelling goes down a little more, we'll have you try them. If they're right, Healer Glasov will put the activation spell on them and you'll put them back in. They'll fuse to your eye and become part of it; you'll never need glasses again."

The left corner of Harry's lip pulled up slightly in the only gesture he could attempt without much pain. "than's."

"Don't mention it. You should get some sleep now. I think your teammates, as well as Azzurra and the others will be in early this morning to check on you.

Harry nodded and five minutes later, he found himself in the midst of a dream, looking into a set of beautiful blue eyes, along with rosy cheeks and blond hair. He didn't know how or why, but after seeing her what, a week ago now? He knew that regardless of what he had to do back in Britain, he had a greater task in France; he had to come clean to Fleur. Whatever happened after that would happen. But she at least deserved the entire truth—she needed to know.

She was his anchor to a greater good.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations<strong>

"_Prêts?_" (Ready?)  
>"<em>Non<em>," (No)  
>"<em>Allons-y!<em>" (Let's go!)  
><em>"Vous êtes sur le point d'être maudit, Harry, Allons-y!"<em> (You're about to be cursed, Harry! Let's go!)


	14. Waking Up

.

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Waking Up**

"Maman, how is he?"

Apolline jumped in the darkened entryway. She grabbed a hold of her chest and put her other hand out on the wall to catch herself. "Fleur? What are you doing up? It's four in the morning!"

"I couldn't sleep." Fleur took her mother's cloak and hung it up. "Who's staying with 'Arry?"

"No one, he woke up about an hour ago. The Healer looked him over and says he's going to be fine; I on the other hand. . . ." Apolline took a breath to steady herself before heading up the stairs; she turned back to see Fleur still on the landing, breathing a sigh of relief.

"I told you he was going to be okay," Apolline said, then smiled. "Did you really think something as small as a mountain could stop 'Arry?"

"I guess not. It's just that . . . I was so scared, Maman_, _I thought . . . I thought I'd never get a chance—"

Apolline made her way back down the wide stairwell and pulled her daughter into a hug. "Shh, _Mon Petite, _he's going to be alright. That Russian Healer is excellent, and those three Veela friends of his will make sure he's well cared for."

Fleur stiffened in her grasp. "Yes, I'm sure they will."

"Stop it!" she said, stepping back to look at her daughter. "You know as well as I do that they're respecting the mark."

Fleur froze. "How—did one of _them _tell you?"

Apolline folded her arms and shook her head. "It was pretty obvious, which brings up another issue."

"Which is?"

"You marked a fourteen year old boy."

"Man!" Fleur snapped back.

"Man, boy; he's fourteen either way. The Zekānōt is _not _going to be happy with you."

"I'm a Delacour, of course they're not going to be happy with me; and even if I wasn't, Grandma Guillory plucked them naked so badly fifty years ago they still talked about her, from what Paige says."

"Yes, well, this isn't about what my maman did; this is about the trouble you're going to be in for marking 'Arry."

"Don't tell the Zekānōt then."

Apolline glared at her daughter. "Any Veela that gets within three feet of him can smell the mark. You're not going to be able to hide this, Fleur, so instead, why don't you tell me what really happened last spring. That way, I can at least explain it to our flock leader."

Fleur deflated. She walked into the smaller room just off the kitchen where she and Harry had words so long ago, and sat down on the couch. Apolline followed, sitting next to her and waiting for Fleur to tell her story.

"When we escaped from Hogwarts," Fleur began, gazing out towards the darkened valley through the large windows that lined the wall, "we stayed the first night in a cave. . . ."

Twenty minutes later, she concluded ". . . I couldn't help myself; it was almost as if it was fated. Being with him wasn't like anything I'd ever experienced before and as much as I tried to deny what was happening inside my heart . . . I guess I already knew how I was feeling—so I marked him."

"I assume that the increased strength means that you still feel that way?"

"Even more so," Fleur answered, scratching at the fabric that covered the couch. "When you and Papa were dating, could he turn your whole world upside-down with just a look?"

"If you only knew. . ." Apolline answered, and giggled at the memories. "I swear there were times I thought he was the Veela and I was the poor witch caught in his magic. I take it that's what happened with the look the two of you shared before the Quidditch match."

"I guess you saw that."

"It was kind of hard to miss. I think the entire stadium saw it, and 'Arry almost getting hit by the Bludger as well."

Fleur let out a slight grin at the memory, but it died before it reached her eyes. "I just wish I knew how he felt."

"I would've thought it obvious," Apolline answered. "The way he looked at you . . ."

"I don't know. I hope so, but how can I be sure?"

A slow smile lit up Apolline's features. "Why don't you ask him when he comes home for Christmas?"

"He's really coming back?" Fleur asked.

In the faint light that was now peaking through the windows, Apolline watched as a small but significant change came over her daughter. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, but there was no arguing that it had come about. "Of course," she finally answered. "Where else would he go?"

"I thought he'd stay there. That's what he normally did at Hogwarts."

She put a hand on her daughter's knee. "That was before he had a place that was worth leaving school for. Now, is there anything else, _Mon Petite_? If not, I want to go to bed."

"No, Maman_._"

She patted Fleur's knee and stood up, then turned back, and asked, "How's your father doing?"

"Okay, I guess. I've avoided him since he came home. I can't believe I hexed Papa."

"Don't worry, I'll talk to him about it in the morning—well, later this morning."

"Thanks, _Maman. _Tell him I'm sorry. I'm also sorry for the problems I caused by marking 'Arry."

"Interesting choice of words," Apolline said, her arms crossed again, but this time she was smirking. "You may be sorry for the trouble, but you're not sorry for doing it, are you?" she asked.

"No," Fleur confirmed,

"That's okay. I wouldn't be either." She confessed. "We'll work it out, somehow."

Apolline found herself being hugged by her daughter and returned the warm embrace, thankful for it and for the opportunity to make her daughter's world right one more time. She surmised that it wouldn't be long now before that job passed to Harry.

** X ****~ X ~ X ~ X**

Half an hour later, Fleur lay in bed, cradling the French national team jersey and staring out the window.

_Harry is coming back. _

While she was sitting at his bedside in Durmstrang, it all seemed clear; the memory of Harry staring into her eyes, taking her breath away and making it impossible for her think; but then she watched those other Veela care for him. They were all so tender with him; sponging his wounds, applying the potions while Fleur held his hand, not wanting to let it go. How could he not fall for one of them? They were so beautiful—not just Veela beautiful either, but human beautiful—especially Jaleena. Why were they like that with him? What exactly was he doing up there—and with who? At least he was marked, but that has its own problems . . . and besides that fact, there were times a naturally full Veela could break a mark set by a part Veela.

She groaned, and gave up on falling back to sleep after that last thought going to the kitchen instead. After filling a cup with water, she dropped a tea bag in it and touched it with her wand, then sat down at the table.

How could she have been so sure sitting by his bedside, then so unsure just a few hours later as she watched the other Veela tend to him? Why was it that every succeeding hour she was home, it seemed like that moment their eyes met, that absolute knowledge that he felt the same way she did, was a dream? What a wonderful dream it was too . . . even if every inch of him were covered in robes, except for those eyes, they were all she needed to see. It was all she would ever need to see as she slid toward him, feeling the heat of his lips as she pressed her own into them—"

"Fleur? Fleur, wake up."

She jolted and almost fell out of the chair, spilling cold tea all over the table and Floor.

"I didn't mean to scare you, _Mon Petite_. Trouble sleeping?"

"I . . . yeah."

Outside, the first true rays of dawn were stealing away the darkness of the night, leaving behind a fresh new day; one that needed to start by addressing what happened at Durmstrang. "Sorry for hexing you, Papa. I don't know what came over me."

Her father leaned against the counter, holding a cup of coffee. "I won't lie and say I wasn't surprised, though after last spring, I understand how you would come to feel so protective of him"—he paused, casting a suspicious eye on his daughter—"or was there another reason you didn't want to leave?"

Fleur ran her finger around the rim of the cup, wondering how much she should tell father, and decided to be honest. "I care for him too much, Papa. I was jealous of his—the other Veela—"

"His Veela-chicks?" Her father asked, humor playing across his face.

Fleur narrowed her eyes. "Why do you call them ''Arry's Veela-chicks'?"

He chuckled. "Markus and I spent some time together while I was up there. He said that the three of them have teased 'Arry pretty good this semester, so 'Arry grew a backbone and started teasing them back. When they'd get out of hand, he'd call them his Veela-chicks to really wind them up."

Fleur wasn't quite successful in fighting down a smirk at the thought of a playful Harry, until she remembered exactly _with whom_ Harry was being playful.

"You do know that Azzurra is dating Markus and the other two have boyfriends they have marked," her father asked, "don't you?"

"Then why were they fawning all over 'im?"

"Markus told me that they adopted him much the same way he adopted Gabrielle, and since their boyfriends have graduated already, they have more time to spend with him."

"And that's supposed to put me at ease?" Fleur asked, recognizing the cattiness in her own voice and wincing. That definitely wasn't a way to be a beautiful human.

"I didn't know you were worried."

He put his empty cup in the sink, then leaned over and kissed Fleur on the forehead. "You're making a big deal out of nothing. What you _should _be worried about, however, is helping your maman with her Christmas party. She's lost quite a bit of preparation time and you know your mother."

Fleur laughed quietly despite her concerns. "She's going to be off her cauldron the next few weeks, isn't she?"

"Better you than me; remember what happened the year I tried to help?"

"Yeah, it was the first time I saw maman go full-feather—it scarred me for life."

Fleur could still hear her father laughing minutes later as he stepped into the Floo.

**X ****~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Harry? Are you awake?" A very soft voice asked.

"I'm not sure, are you?" _Are you awake—what kind of question is that? _Harry couldn't hold in the grin at the look of confusion. "Sorry, just taking the mick out of you."

Azzurra cocked her head a little to the side and pursed her lips. "So, you're Mr. Funny-Boy now?"

"Couldn't resist."

She pressed her lips together in the same way Professor McGonagall used to, but Harry noticed the corners twitching upwards. She finally gave in and smiled. "Professor Sirko said you came around earlier this morning. You had us very scared."

"I've never played Quidditch that close to a mountain. Next time; I'll remember to keep an eye out for it."

Azzurra shook her head and leaned towards him in mock intimidation. "Hopefully, the next time you'll . . ." she paused and sniffed the air. "What is that smell?"

She scrunched her eyebrows together and leaned over Harry a little more.

"I've been out for a week, what do you think—"

"Shh! Where did I—" suddenly her face lit up and she looked Harry dead in the eye, smiled wickedly, then quickly turned and marched out of the room. A few minutes later, Azzurra returned with Jaleena and Médée in tow.

"Well, go on! Smell him!"

_Did she just tell Jaleena . . . ? _

Jaleena cocked an eyebrow at Azzurra and then turned to Harry. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore, and I have a nasty headache, but I hear that's pretty normal whenumph—"

Something soft, moist, and delicious pressed against his lips.

"_Zut_, he tastes 'orrible!" Médée ran to the bathroom and stuck her mouth under a faucet, washing out the taste of the mark.

Jaleena stared wide-eyed as Azzurra's laughter filled the room. "How long?" she asked.

"How long what?" Harry answered, looking as confused as a Veela seeking a mate in the Holyhead Harpies' locker room.

"You don't. . . ." she turned to Azzurra and shook her head. Harry then noticed them both fighting off very Veela like grins—secretive and sexy as all get-out.

"What?" he asked again.

"Don't worry, we may you later, if you do what we say," Jaleena answered, flashing him an almost predatory gleam.

Just that fast, Harry had a new respect for any wizard who could stand in her presence.

"Didn't expect that out of her, did you?" Azzurra asked in a sympathetic voice. "The first time I saw her flash it at her boyfriend, it shocked the Veela right out of me."

The water shut off and Médée stepped back into the room. Harry couldn't let the opportunity pass by. "I didn't know you missed me that much, but you should've waited 'til I showered."

Médée narrowed an eyebrow and pinned him with a playful glare. "Keep it up and you'll find yourself flying back into the mountain."

"Only if you're on the broom with me, preferably in front to soften the impact . . . speaking of which," he said, changing subjects. "Do I even have to ask what happened to my Firebolt?"

Azzurra shook her head. "It was in more pieces than your glasses."

Harry closed his eyes and fought off the onset of emotions. "It was the first gift from my godfather that I can remember . . . I guess I'll have to find another broom next weekend."

"Why?" Jaleena asked. "It's almost Christmas break and you're not cleared to play Quidditch until you return."

Harry glared at her. "I have game in two weeks!"

"Which you will be sitting in the stands, watching," Médée finished the sentence. Then she threatened him. "I'll hex the magic out of you if you even think about flying before we leave for break."

"_We _will," Jaleena corrected Médée.

Harry tried to sit up and argue, but a pain shot through his shoulder into his torso and Harry fell back down into the bed.

"Moving not so good, eh?" The Healer asked as he approached from his office. "Shoulder was dislocated. It's back in place but not fixed magically—too much magic used on face. Not good to overload system."

"Too much magic on his face?" Médée asked, "Shame it didn't help anything."

"I can still hit you with a spell," Harry threatened, to her amusement. The chatter continued for a few minutes, until the door opened and he recognized the person who entered; it was the other Seeker—Stan, or something like that.

"I heard what you did for me," Harry said. "Thank you. I guess I should apologize for the little trick with the goal rings."

"There's no need to thank me and no need to apologize either, it's all a part of the game—except for beaking the mountain," Stan said with a laugh.

"Beaking?"

"It's what we call it when someone runs nose first into the mountain." Stan explained. "We've never seen it done the way you did it; usually, if the opposing Chasers are running up the score, a Beater or Seeker just rubs one off against the mountain."

Harry started laughing.

"What?" Stan asked. "It's rather painful, as you no doubt know."

Tears streamed from his eyes, half in mirth and half in pain as his shoulder protested against his body shaking so violently while laughing.

"What's so funny about that?" Jaleena asked. "I've seen Viktor do it a few times; I know I wouldn't enjoy it."

Harry was gasping for breath when Healer Glasov came back in to check on him.

"Out! Patient needs healing. This not helping."

Harry managed to get Stan's name out before he left, and motioned for him to stay, though it took a couple of minutes for Harry to get himself back under control. "I wasn't laughing at you," He was finally able to explain. "Do you not know what 'rub one off' means in the UK?"

"I guess not," Stan answered.

"It's um, what blokes do while their alone and thinking about very beautiful witches."

Stan stared at Harry for as second, then threw his head back and filled the infirmary with a deep, rich laugh until Glasov came back to escort him out.

"No Quidditch, I hear," Stan said as he put the chair back against the wall.

"That's what Jaleena and Médée said, speaking of whom, please don't tell them what 'rub one off,' means."

"You think I could stand before three Veela and explain that?" he asked, a slight crimson glow starting in his cheeks at the thought. "I'll leave it to you."

**X ****~ X ~ X ~ X**

A couple of days later, the facial swelling had gone down enough for Harry to try on his contacts. The difference was amazing, though not so much once he realized he hadn't been to an eye doctor in over three years.

An hour later however, his eyes felt as if they were being hit by the _Cruciatus _Curse_. _At least this time there was a purpose to it. The contacts forming a permanent bond with his irises.

The next two weeks were torturous for different reasons. The first few days were spent in bed, he wasn't even allowed to walk by himself until the following Tuesday, and wasn't excused from the infirmary until Friday. Even then, he was told that under no circumstances would he be able to start training for at least another week.

Harry spent it mainly at his desk, thumbing through the books he brought with him from Hogwarts and trying to integrate what he had learned about Dark Arts theory with everything he had read. Most of the spells and curses in _Gebringang-pinere _were nasty affairs—a number of the lesser ones Harry had tried in fighting practice. But there were quite a few he wouldn't use, except on an enemy. There were also spells that he knew he would never use, even if he was standing face-to-face with Voldemort himself.

He reasoned that if the _Imperius_ Curse put a person in the position of God; he didn't want to know what position a curse that destroyed the soul and body, assuring no afterlife, would put a person in.

A few others however, were helpful and Harry's control was coming along, but not to the degree that made him—or anyone else—happy. It was one of the few things lacking in his magical repertoire—really lacking, which was why he was dreading the weekly discussion with Professor Sirko that he was heading for.

Harry knocked on the door and waited until the Professor answered. After everything he had heard about Durmstrang, he still found it strange that the headmaster's office was right off a hallway without any passwords or secret passages.

"Ready?" Harry asked when the door opened.

"I trust you have already finished your morning training?"

"We did." He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

Professor Sirko quirked an eyebrow. "For your first day back, you shouldn't be smiling as much as you are, what happened?

"I managed to wake up first this morning and found Markus sleeping without wards or charms—again."

The professor chuckled. "How did he take it?"

"Pretty good, mainly in the chest and head."

Professor Sirko threw back his head and guffawed.

"I meant has he gotten back at you."

"It was a right interesting jog around the lake, I'll say that much—though I think he took it easy on me. Anyway, I'm sorry to be so forward, sir, but if I want to make it through the rest of the day I'm going to need a bit of kip."

"Relax; we won't be long. I've spoken with everyone, and it seems that the last two weeks haven't hurt you very much. Matter of fact, you've done well the entire semester. The pace we set for you was brutal and the fact you're able to keep up impresses me."

Harry waited, thinking that he was being set up for a particularly nasty Bludger.

"There's an area of continued concern, however."

_And here it comes._

"Azzurra reports that you're still struggling with your control, except in specific circumstances like your _Patronus_."

"I know, I've tried a few different things."

Professor Sirko nodded. "Having any luck?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think so."

Harry's eyes clicked open in surprise. "Why's that?"

The professor leaned forward to gaze at Harry over the ancient desk. "Before I answer that, what do you think about Markus's report that you're average at best in combat, until someone pisses you off?"

"I'd say it's probably right," he answered.

Professor Sirko nodded. "You're so connected with your anger and hatred at what happened back at Hogwarts that you're pushing too much power through everything you cast. It's overloading your real spell work. You may have even been struggling with it before last spring, depending on how you grew up."

That caught Harry by surprise. He absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair while thinking about it for a bit, but one thing still didn't make sense. "If that's true, then why am I just average in fighting until I get brassed off?"

"Because, when you get brassed off, as you say, you're redoubling your power and relying on that to overcome your other shortcomings."

Harry shook his head. "How is that bad? I mean, you and Dumbledore and others are all so much more powerful than me, how can I be pushing too much magic?"

"You're looking at it the wrong way. We all have to pare down our magic to the amount needed for any given spell. Otherwise, the goal of the spell gets lost in the force of the magic."

Harry squinted, thinking about that for a moment before responding. "But that doesn't make sense. If I wanted to punch a hole through the wall with a _Reducto, _the more power, the better, right? And different people can cast different strength of spells as well, so what do you mean by 'pare down?'"

Professor Sirko picked up a little spongy ball and threw it at Harry's hand, which was still tapping the armrest.

"Sorry," he said.

Professor Sirko chuckled. "No worries. Now, as for your question, let's think about it a different way. Pretend there's a village a couple of miles from here that needs water, so we build a canal from the lake to help them. To control the flow, we dam the canal half way between the lake and the town. Now tell me, what would happen if, even though we were at maximum capacity of the canal, we opened the dam all the way?"

"I guess it depends on whether the rest of the canal could hold the water. If not, it'd flood."

"That's right," the professor said as he walked around his desk and leaned against the front of it. "Magic is both the canal that holds the spell, and what empowers the spell itself. If your spell casting is weak, or inexperienced, then you can't push a lot of magic through it. That is why each person casts spells differently. Now, let's go back to the canal and say we've reinforced it; maybe we made it into a great big pipe. What happens then?"

"The water gets to the town—but if they don't have a way to stop it, the town is flooded."

"Can you relate that to magic?"

Harry started drumming his fingers on the armchair again, but stopped when Professor Sirko picked up the ball again. "So, my magic can flood whatever I'm trying to do, wiping out the specifics of the spell; like hitting something with big hammer, rather than a pointed knife."

"Good," the professor said. "I think you're starting to catch on. Pushing magic through a spell is very much like water running through a canal, except that you're pumping it through, rather than depending on gravity. So, instead of a dam, we install a pump on the canal and then let it loose to push the maximum amount of water, there can be only two results; either the village is flooded; or the water is stopped and it creates backpressure, breaking through the pipe or damaging the pump."

Harry thought about it for a couple of seconds, but finally had to admit that he couldn't see the connection.

"It results in either an accidental magical event, or if whatever you're casting and the magic it encounters is vastly stronger, your magic rebounds."

"Voldemort!" Harry breathed the name.

"Exactly; the blood ward your mother created—don't look so surprised; there's only a few reasons why Voldemort would have risked so much to use your blood in his return—was vastly stronger than any magic he could push. Voldemort has superior control over his magic; but when he couldn't drive it through the wards to kill you; he was hit with the backpressure of the spell. Or, in layman's terms, it rebounded."

He nodded, finally starting to understand the fundamentals of spell theory.

**X ****~ X ~ X ~ X**

Over the next few days, Harry continued to work through spell theory, even spending time in the library. He couldn't help but think about what Hermione and Ron would say about his new habit, and it tempered his mood.

Nevertheless, he poured himself into studying, and even cast a few spells when no one was looking, but the big break through didn't come until he stood opposite Markus the day he was allowed to practice again.

"I'm going to go easy on you since it's your first day back fighting. Don't push too much magic," Markus warned.

Harry snorted. "Afraid?"

"Funny, but unfortunately I'm serious. Both the Headmaster and the Healer Glasov were very clear. Don't overdo it."

Harry nodded. "Alright, I guess. You ready?"

Markus's wand appeared from nowhere and he cast a low powered curse.

Harry sidestepped it and cast his own jinx while focusing on reducing and pinpointing his magic, but he was so perplexed that he could literally feel the spell as it streaked out, that he forgot he was even fighting.

A German equivalent of an _Expulso_ Spell smacked into his chest and pushed him back a few steps, shaking him from his thoughts.

"You okay? You should have been able to block that no problem."

Harry rubbed his chest. "Yeah . . . I just, I don't know. Let's do it again."

He raised his wand, but let Markus cast first. A pinkish light streaked at him and he dodged it, and then cast a fun little hex. When Markus began to move, Harry concentrated on using his magic to control the spell.

The red light with blue wisps arced in the air and traced back to Markus, catching him across the thigh. He went down in a lump, his left leg twitching and shaking.

"It worked!" Harry shouted in surprise. "I can't believe it!"

"Neither can I," Markus said from the Floor. "When the hell did you learn to bend your spells?"

"I didn't. I mean, this was the first. Professor Sirko and I talked about controlling magic a few days ago and I've read about spellwork, including how to bend spells, but this was the first time I ever did it!"

Markus got up off the Floor.

"Let's make sure you didn't just get lucky."

He conjured a bunch of targets, then walked over and stood by Harry. "Do it again . . . matter of fact"—he raised his wand and created barriers of different shapes and sizes—"I want you to cast around the shields.

Harry picked the easiest one, a 3x3 target sitting on the far wall across the practice room with a small, clear shield between it and him. He concentrated and cast a stunner to the right of it, focusing on bending the spell around the barrier and back into the target. He was rewarded with the bottom corner being torn off.

"Not bad. Do it again."

Forty minutes later, Harry was hitting eighty percent of his targets, most of those somewhere close to the middle.

Markus waved his wand and banished the remaining targets, along with the blackened shields from a few of Harry's misses. "Damn. I guess Professor Sirko is going to be teaching you now."

That caught Harry by surprise. "Why do you say that?" he asked.

"What you just did is beyond me. I can run you through drills but I can't teach you how to bend spells, or even help you experiment with it. You're beyond me now." Markus answered.

"Yeah, well, that's not saying much," Harry joked.

"I'm the best fighter in this school, including the Professors, except for the Headmaster."

He raised an eyebrow at Markus.

"You doubt me? I told you I've trained to fight since I could lift a wand. Most of the Zashtitniks—that's what the Veela call us, it's Bulgarian for _Protector_—can hold their own with any professor by their fifth year, and defeat most of them by their seventh."

"I was just kidding," Harry said.

Markus picked up a towel from the lockers in the back and tossed it at Harry, who had worked up a sweat. "And I'm not kidding about you being beyond me. I can still help you with Muggle fighting and the wandless spells we've been focused on, but outside of that, we're finished, except as sparing partners."

"But I can't even cast silently yet," he reminded Markus as he wiped the towel across his neck.

"You do realize bending spells is far more advanced that silent casting, don't you?"

Assuming the answer was "no" by the look on Harry's face, Markus continued. "Try casting a spell silently. Just do the same thing you did when you bent the other spells, but this time, reach through your wand and then cast the spell."

Harry raised his wand and reached through it towards his target, then let his magic flow. He made two sharp movements and a spell shot out, hitting the wall where he aimed.

"I lied to you," Markus said. "Now I've taught you everything I can."

Harry looked at his wand, looked at the wall, then back to his wand, and then to Markus. "Un-bloody-believable. I was really pushing too much power into my spells—that was my entire problem."

"Is that what Professor Sirko said?"

"Yeah, I wasn't letting go so my magic could flow naturally—though that sounds like a contradiction now, but . . ." He shrugged.

"It's magic, if it didn't sound like a contradiction, it probably wouldn't be right."

"That actually sounds more like witches than magic," Harry remarked. He wiped his face one more time before throwing the towel down on the Floor of the locker.

They turned towards the door to go to the Dining Hall. "And that is something else I can't teach you about," Markus confessed. "I'm just lucky that Azzurra puts up with me."

A sharp sucking sound echoed in the locker and Harry glanced over his shoulder to find the towel gone. "How do they do that?" he asked.

"Summoning spells," Markus answered. "We humans have one; Elves have about twenty different types. Our Aurors have tried to learn them at different times, but it seems our magic isn't similar enough."

He pondered that as he followed Markus out of the room and down to lunch, where they sat next to his Veela-chicks.

"Hey, want to go flying after classes?" a teammate asked from the next table as Harry was finishing lunch.

"Sure!" he answered.

"Think again," Médée said. "You don't have a broom, and you're not allowed to fly at least until break."

"Yes, mother! Maybe you can change my nappies as well," Harry remarked. Laughter broke out from the two tables.

Médée turned on the charm.

"So, how long have you wanted me in your nappies?" she asked with a smile of sweet venom.

"Since you insisted I wear them big enough for two."

"He's really getting better at that, isn't he?" Azzurra asked Jaleena as they watched Médée turn a pinkish hue.

"About time," Jaleena agreed. "Though you should probably get him out of here before they really start going at it."

"I think you're right," Azzurra agreed.

Harry laughed at the two of them and gestured to Azzurra to lead the way to the old, unused classroom that they had used for Transfiguration lessons.

**X ****~ X ~ X ~ X**

A few days later, they were leaving the Dining Hall again, walking to the Transfiguration classroom when Harry found himself thinking about the first time they were together in this same hall, and how he had acted.

"Azzurra?"

"_Oui?_"

Great, this was going to be a "French" day. It wasn't that bad, but it did make it a little more difficult to speak. All those stupid letters at the end of French words that are never really pronounced made the language almost impossible sometimes.

"I wanted to apologize again."

She stopped and turned to him, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "For what?"

"For that first night; I realize now how much your magic is tied into your empathy. I wasn't just rejecting your help, I was rejecting you and Jaleena and Médée on a very personal level. I know that's why you and Jaleena reacted the way you did—and why I was lucky to get a lecture, instead of a hexing party."

She placed her hand on his cheek. "You don't need to apologize for that again, though I appreciate it."

Harry took her hand, squeezing it gently in a show of appreciation before letting it drop. They started walking again. "I never did figure out why you all did that though. I know what Jaleena said, but. . . ."

They finished climbing the stairway and walked to the room. Harry waited as she opened the door and then followed her in before she answered.

"When I walked into your dorm that first day, I could smell Veela on you," Azzurra began. "There are a number of . . . scents, you could say. The strongest was one of emotional protection. It comes from a Veela pushing magic into you to help protect and calm you. There wasn't a hint of sexuality in it. The control to create that scent comes from a much older Veela and is driven through matriarchal love."

An image popped into his mind. "Mrs. Delacour?"

"Probably; the same scent was in the room when she was with you in the infirmary."

Azzurra paused for a second, weighing her next words. "It means she's chosen to love you like a son. In very strict Veela culture, she's adopted you, though most Veela don't follow the custom anymore."

Harry took a step back and sat down, remembering how he thought he could feel his own mother kissing him on the forehead as he lay in the hospital bed. Was that why?

"That alone told me there was something different about you. It's not often a fifteen year old boy who is not part of a Veela family has that scent on him. Then Jaleena came in and sensed whatever she sensed and we just followed her lead. Since we're younger however, and definitely not as matriarchal, the best we could do was an older sister's flirty best friend type of thing. It's very much how Gabrielle treats you as well, though I don't think she even realizes she's doing it."

Harry smiled at the mention of Gabrielle. "I feel sorry for the poor sod that thinks he's good enough to date her."

Azzurra grinned. "She loves you, too. The week you were in the infirmary, Fleur refused to leave your side and Gabrielle was there next to her almost every step of the way. She referred to you as 'her big brother' the entire time."

He thought about the two blond-haired, blue-eyed Veela sitting at his bedside worrying about him, but the vision morphed into a bushy-haired brat and red-headed git whom Harry loved and sorely missed. How many times had he visited and been visited by them in the infirmary? Of course, now he had another set of friends at Durmstrang that did the same thing. Harry realized for the first time that he was truly lucky in life; in spite of losing his family, living at the Dursleys, and even the events at Hogwarts.

It wasn't that those things weren't important, but since the day he entered the magical world, he was constantly finding people who really did care for him, maybe even loved him.

"Thank you again," he said quietly. "I still don't understand why people would bother, but I can't deny that you have."

Azzurra huffed in frustration. "Why we'd bother? Beyond the obvious, do you know how much you've stirred up the Veela community at this school?"

He looked at her blankly.

She sat down in a chair next to him. "Listen, there's a large rift in the Veela world. Many of us want to pull away from the Wizarding world either completely or almost completely. The main voice against separation comes from two flocks, but even among those, most want to stay somewhat separate from wizards. They use the history of the French Revolution and later Grindelwald's war to justify it."

"Fleur told me about those."

"Figures," she said, and made that cute little sound again in the back of her throat. "But now, just the fact that _Harry Potter_ is sitting in a Veela class—"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I don't care how much you don't like it," Azzurra gently rebuked him; "you can't escape who you are and what you mean to others. The fact that you are here and have befriended three very strong Veela, not to mention basically being adopted by the Delacours, has not gone unnoticed by the others."

"Why?"

"They're wondering about the future. If Harry Potter is a friend of Veela and he defeats Voldemort, what would it be like for us in England? Can we live there without fear of registries or persecution if you took a stand against it? If Harry Potter was in love with a Veela, what would that mean?

"Is that why you three are helping me—why you cared about me?"

"No," she answered immediately. "We were drawn to a young man who was in a lot of pain and had seen a lot of bad stuff, but was still innocent and sweet and able to love. It's probably similar to what Fleur saw in you."

Harry thought about that for a second. "Then does she really like me, or is it just a 'rescue me' thing?"

Azzurra laughed. "Trust me, she _really_ likes you."

He noticed that she was biting her tongue in order to say no more.

"Spill it. What else is there?"

"Nope. Ready for the lesson?

"Not until you tell me."

Azzurra shook her head. "Good luck with that; come on, you need to work on your control."

"Not really," he said, and smirked as he formed a plan. "Matter of fact, I think we could probably forget the 'control' lessons and move on to complex wards and multiple conjurings."

Azzurra stood up and started clearing desks. "Not a chance. You still need all the help you can get in basic magical control."

"Maybe," Harry said, before winding her up even more, "but honestly, how much can a Veela teach me about control, I'm probably beyond you at this point."

"Pardon?" Azzurra asked as she spun back around. Her whole demeanor changed to one of surprise on the verge of anger.

"See what I mean?" Harry flared his eyes.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder and pursed her lips, her own narrowed eyes never leaving his. "So, you think you have better control than me?" she asked in a dangerously sultry voice.

He knew he had to work fast. While he could withstand Fleur's and Gabrielle's magic, he didn't want to take a chance with a naturally full Veela. Even so, his grin grew large and a tad malevolent as he set the trap. "I'm pretty sure I do. We could make a contest out of it if you wanted, let me prove my magic against yours—your _non-Veela _magic, that is."

Azzurra crossed her arms. "Smart boy, now what do I get when I win?"

"_If_ you win, then tomorrow you get to play dress-up doll with me while we shop."

Azzurra lit up. "No complaining—and all day, no matter _what _we ask you to try on?" she clarified. "And you will also finally tell me why you keep snickering every time we ask what's so funny about 'rubbing one off.'"

"Fine," he said. "I'll tell you, and I won't complain on the shopping trip either, no matter what you ask me to try on." He let that sink in for a moment. "And, when_ I_ win, you will tell me how you know that Fleur '_really _likes me.'"

She leaned back on the desk. "I get to decide the tests for control."

Harry's mind raced as he realized just what he was agreeing to, and he began to sweat despite the cold draft in the room.

Well, if I'm going to fail, it might as well be spectacular, he rationalized. At least I'll be able to laugh at it—years from now. "Sure, but we're doing four tests and I get to choose the last one."

"Then we should get started."

Harry realized she wasn't planning to play fair a few moments later when she took off her robe, and then touched her jumper and skirt with her wand, shrinking them into a 'little schoolgirl' outfit.

He raised an eyebrow.

"The contest is about wizard vs. Veela control of magic, right?" she cooed.

Harry chuckled. "Alright, just get on with it."

She conjured ten odd sized canisters and placed them on the teacher's desk, then pulled Harry back to the middle of the room. "You have one minute to transfigure ten chairs into a substance that fits the cans perfectly."

"Ladies first," he offered.

"Why? Do you need to watch and learn?"

Harry chuckled and sat in a chair a few feet behind her.

"Nope"—Azzurra raised her wand and began transforming the first chair; she cast a second spell, levitating it off the ground—"I just wanted to watch your form," Harry finished.

The chair quivered and fell, splattering on the Floor in a gelatin-like substance.

Harry opened his mouth to laugh, but stopped quickly when he realized he was looking at the cursing end of a wand.

"Hey, if you're going to show it off, at least I can comment on it," he said, and caught the twitch at the corner of her lip as she turned back around to face the front again, but instead of raising her wand, she lifted her empty hand. A small but tumescent sphere of flames popped out of nowhere.

"You're going to let me start over, right?"

"Um, sure," he answered, staring at the fireball.

It disappeared and she set the first chair right, then waved her wand and restarted the conjured timer floating in the air.

Harry watched as she transfigured all ten chairs into large, round, light-colored pegs and levitated them snugly into each can. When Azzurra finished, he stood up and went to inspect.

"Impressive," he whispered. She had filled each can to within a quarter-inch of the top. Only two had material above the rim. "How are we going to judge this?"

"Like this." Azzurra waved her wand and a mark appeared inside every can. For the ones that ran over, a mark appeared at the same distance beneath the rim.

"Now, we see how badly you can fail," she taunted.

"Competitive, aren't we?" Harry asked as he walked back to the middle of the classroom.

She winked at him in reply. "Whenever you're ready; the clock begins when you cast the first spell."

He took a deep breath and concentrated. At least he wasn't dodging dragons. Slowly, confidently, he raised his wand and in silence, cast a hovering spell. The chair rose into the air and he guided it to the first target before transfiguring it into water. The can filled to overflowing, soaking the desk and Floor beneath. Azzurra chuckled behind him, but he ignored it and moved on to the next chair. By the time he had finished filling the ninth can, the front of the classroom was soaked.

"Ten seconds," she called out behind him in a good humor.

Harry levitated the last chair over the desk, then transfigured it.

"Six seconds, at least you finished—"

Harry raised his hand to silence her, before flicking his wand at the front of the room. He bent the spell around the cans, banishing every trace of water.

"How the?" Azzurra began as the alarm went off. She flicked her wand at the timer rather forcefully, grumbling as she walked up to the front. She stared down at all ten cans, then at the dry desk and Floor.

Harry walked up next to her. "How did I do?"

She made another noise in the back of her throat that was much more dangerous than sophisticated and definitely not cute. With a sharp slash of her wand and a whispered "_Finite Incantatem_," the cans disappeared and ten chairs tumbled down to the Floor.

Harry jumped out of the way as the top one landed where he was just standing.

"Sorry," she said, smirking again.

"No problem," Harry answered, and raised his wand while still looking at her. The offending chair rose high off the Floor and floated through the air. He continued to stare into her eyes as he reached through this magic to feel the chair as it settled down, holding it level so that all four legs touched at once without a sound.

"Shall we continue to the second test, or do you just want to tell me now?"

Azzurra growled at him and Harry started laughing.

"So you've improved," she said. "That doesn't mean you're going to win."

The second test was transfiguring objects into life-sized, realistic animals. Jaleena, Médée, and Professor Sirko came in to judge and awarded the win to Azzurra, though by a narrow margin. Harry lost because his lion, while quite well done, ended up a Gryffindor red with yellow markings.

The third round was even more difficult. Azzurra conjured and then floated a series of rings into the air. She explained that they had to transfigure a table without banishing any part of the material, and float it through the rings. The catch however, was that the rings were either too small, or had an inner disk that forced them to manipulate the transfiguration.

Azzurra began and raced her table through the course, shaping and reshaping it; but with one set of rings to go, she misjudged their size and bounced the table leg off the inner ring.

"Fifty-five seconds, plus five more for hitting the ring," Professor Sirko announced when she was finished.

Harry stepped to the middle of the room without a word and transfigured his table. He reached through his magic to feel the material as it shifted and changed according to his will.

"Fifty-seven seconds, no penalties," The professor said once he cleared the last ring and canceled the charm.

"Looks like we're about dead even," Harry said. "Last test wins."

Azzurra tossed her hair to the side and gave Harry a cute pout. "So, what does Harry have planned for little innocent Azzurra?" she asked in a little girl voice as she twisted her fingers in the material of her too-short skirt.

Harry tore his eyes away from her and fought down a number of tinglings that suddenly made themselves known in his body. Damn, did she ever fight dirty!

Instead, he walked over and whispered the last test into the headmaster's ear.

"You can't be serious," Professor Sirko said. "This I have to see." He waved his wand a few times and targets of various sizes appeared all over the room. A second series of wand-waves produced an assortment of semi-transparent shields at various distances between the professor and the targets. Last, he conjured a two-inch high, three-foot square platform.

"What's this?" Azzurra asked.

"Target practice," Harry answered with a grin. "We have to hit the targets with a blasting curse"—he turned to the Headmaster—"and we have to stay on the platform the entire time, right professor?"

"Exactly," Professor Sirko confirmed.

"Where's the control factor?"

Harry grinned at her. "Besides staying on the platform? You can't attempt to move a shield, a target, or deflect a curse off anything."

She gaped at him. "How in the . . ."

"Does little innocent Azzurra need to watch and learn?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Step aside."

Harry obeyed, still grinning. "Anything else?"

Yeah, are we being timed?"

"It's up to you."

"Of course you are," Professor Sirko interrupted. "If you're in a fight, the more time you take to cast a curse, the more chance you have of being killed."

Azzurra nodded. She took a deep breath and stepped on the platform. Then she focused on the first target, raised her arm out to the side, and pointed her wand forward; firing a straight shot that missed the small shield by half an inch. It drilled the target dead center.

Twenty-five seconds later, she had destroyed seven targets, nicked four others (though they were still intact), and blackened three shields. She turned back to Harry with a grin. "Did I impress big, bad Harry?" She asked in the little girl voice again.

"What's fair is fair, I guess. Professor Sirko?" he said, turning to him. "Would you do something for me?"

"What's that?"

"Enlarge the shields a bit more; I want to give Azzurra a fighting chance."

"Prat," Azzurra said, dropping the act.

He chuckled to himself. It was her favorite new English word for him and Markus. Strangely, it made him feel all the more loved.

"Alright Harry, it's done."

He looked back and focused, raising his arm at the first target, and hesitated. Over the last few days, he spent quite a bit of time bending weak spells, but always to the left, since he cast with his right hand. If he could bend the spell one way, however, why couldn't he bend it back the other? Readjusting his aim to the left side of the target, Harry cast his first spell and reached out with his magic, bending it around the shield to the right and splitting the target in half. He barely made the proper motions with his wand and shot off a second spell, bending it hard to the left this time and around the next shield toward the target that sat four feet away from the first.

Harry took down two more targets, then turned to the middle set and aimed, bending his spells to the lower right, lower left, then upper right, and upper left, but he misjudged the last target and his spell exploded into the wall, low and left, showering that part of the room with pieces of marble and dust. The miss threw him off, causing him to miss high on a single target sitting further up on the wall. Frustrated now, he turned to the last set.

In the back of his mind, a thought formed that he'd screw this up and wouldn't find out what he wanted to know—needed to know, and if he didn't know it, Fleur would end up walking away, which was a good thing since everyone else around him died and he didn't want that to happen to her but then he'd be all alone like he'd been since his parents died and of course everyone he knew at Hogwarts was also dead and all his new friends were going to die if they stayed with him and how could—

Harry had absolutely no idea about Muggle psychology and cognitive distortions such as_ All or Nothing, False Dilemma, _or even, ironically, _Fortune Telling_. For him, the sudden thought was already a reality and he immersed himself in the ocean of emotion that poured forth.

He aimed his wand at the center of the shield and poured every possible bit of emotion he was feeling into the curse, then he reached through his magic to draw it down to the diameter of a needle. The curse streaked through the air and pierced the shield with a loud screech, continuing on. Harry released his magic as the spell reached its goal. An ear-splitting explosion reported that the over-powered Blasting Curse had obliterated the ceramic target.

He ignored the impact against his chest and let loose a second spell, shaping and driving it through the shield again. It destroyed the target and Harry took another sharp hit to the chest. By the time he reached the last one, he was utterly exhausted.

Too tired to drive his spell through another shield, he aimed to the side and cast the last spell, pushing all his emotion and power into it one last time, then reached out to bend the spell and force it back to the target. He hit enough of it to destroy the ceramic plate, but the backpressure of the spell kicked him in the chest once more, this time knocking him down to the Floor where he lay, unmoving.

He came to a couple of minutes later with a weight in the middle of his stomach. He barely moved when someone screeched at him.

"_Tu ragazzo stupido,_ _Che cavolo stai pensando_?"

"What?" he asked, opening his eyes to see a furious Azzurra straddling him, her hands and wand hovering over his chest. It looked like she was casting diagnostic charms. Harry could recognize those charms halfway through his second year, unfortunately.

Azzurra clamped her eyes shut for a second, took two calming breaths, and began again. "I said, 'You stupid boy, what in the hell where you thinking?'"

Harry flinched, but caught himself and refused to react to her term of (not so much) endearment.

"Can you stand up?" The professor asked.

"Not after I get finished cursing him," Médée muttered and moved to his side, tapping Azzurra on the arm. The latter backed up and pulled Harry to a sitting position. Médée stepped behind him, slipped her arms under his, and despite her threat, helped him to his feet. She readjusted and moved him to a chair.

Harry sat down, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the wall. "That wore me out."

"OF COURSE IT DID YOU IMBE—"

He peeked to see Azzurra, now with her hand firmly placed over the mouth of a half-feathered Jaleena.

"What were you thinking?" Azzurra asked; an undertone in her voice betrayed the tight control she had just gained on her own anger.

"I don't really know, somehow I went from missing a target to thinking that all my friends have been killed by Voldemort and I'm all alone. Then everything just took off on me, like my magic was in the driver's seat and I was along for the ride."

Professor Sirko conjured a glass of water and handed it to him. "When did you learn how to control your bending of spells?"

"A few days ago; Markus told me you and the Healer stressed that I shouldn't exert myself over the next few days—"

Jaleena snorted derisively and Azzurra glared. Médée just shook her head.

"So we went half speed. I focused on reducing the power and"—Harry waved his hand—"that was the result."

"I asked you about manipulating spells earlier this year," the Professor said. "If I remember right, you didn't realize you were doing it . . . looks like you've learned how to do it on purpose now." He strolled over to the conjured objects that protected the targets and inspected them.

"Azzurra?"

"Yes, Professor?"

He ran his hand across one of the shields again. "Harry won."

"If you say so," she answered. "Though I'm not sure we should count the last set of targets, this was about control"—she kicked Harry's leg hard enough to tell him that she was still brassed off—"not power."

Harry smiled and closed his eyes. He was beginning to understand that a friend's care could show itself in many ways.

"Then these targets should count double."

"What?" Azzurra walked over and inspected the shields The two of them talked in whispers for a few seconds before turning back to Harry.

"Do you remember how you did this?" Professor Sirko asked.

"Kind of, I just thought about driving the spell right through the target." He opened his eyes to look at the Professor. "Why?"

"Remember how your magic is like water running through a canal?"

"Yeah."

"You've found a way to turn the canal into a tunnel and push as much of your magic through it as you want without destroying the spell, which is why you felt the backpressure. If you back it off a little, that's one damn dangerous spell, so long as your intended result is something big and loud."

"Loud?" Harry asked, looking at Azzurra.

"Don't you dare say it," she threatened and turned back to look at the shield again.

Harry thought for a second, then ignored his better judgment. "Professor Sirko?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Does the school give money for the Head-Boy and Girl uniforms?"

"They do, why?"

"I was just wondering. I guess Azzurra just likes wearing her fourth year uniform to sexually frustrate fifteen-year-old wizards.

Azzurra spun around to glare at Harry, while glowing a beautiful red. He let out another whoop, only to slump down in the chair again, tired but proud of his multiple victories that afternoon.

**X ****~ X ~ X ~ X**

"How is that I won and yet, I'm still being used as a dress up doll?"

"Shut up and turn around," Médée demanded.

Azzurra let out a cackle as Harry flashed a two-fingered salute before doing as Médée asked.

"I don't know," Médée continued, still down on one knee. She grabbed the loose material on the outside of the lower thigh. "I don't like how it fits him here. Up here however,"—she grabbed his rear, one cheek in each hand—"it fits _very _well."

"HEY!" Harry spun around to face a Veela kneeling before him with a wicked gleam in her eye.

"Oh relax," Jaleena said. "You're in public with three Veela fawning all over you and one grabbing your backside. Start complaining, and there's going to be rumors about you."

Harry let loose string of threats and desired cursings under his breath before turning back around.

"Jaleena, want to feel how well these fit his derriere?" Médée asked.

"Alright, that's enough!" Harry stalked off towards the dressing room, leaving three crowing Veela behind him. He slipped on his shirt and noticed that once again_, _his clothes were getting a little tight through the chest. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror and realized just how much he'd grown this fall.

Sirius was right—he was taking after his father.

He was also quite a bit wider as his shoulders had begun filling out. His forearms were a little thicker and his jaw line more angular, not to mention the fifteen pounds he put on in muscle since he came to France.

Harry pulled his hair back into the leather tieback, then put on his shoes, gathered up his clothes and walked out to face his Veela-chicks; they were having a great time today, mainly at Harry's expense—both literally and figuratively. Azzurra took the clothes and sorted them; throwing most of them on the return cart, but handing a few items back to him.

"Really? More?" he asked.

She huffed, and pointed to the clerk with a pair of trousers in her hand that he had tried on earlier. "Trust me, and you're wearing these trousers to your Christmas party. They go perfectly with the shirt we found."

He dutifully paid and collected the bags before leaving the store.

"You know, some people would consider it a privilege to go clothes shopping in Milan, especially with three beautiful tour guides," Azzurra said.

Harry grimaced. "Sorry, I haven't been that bad, have I?"

"Your head really isn't here today, is it?" Jaleena asked, catching on to something as she walked next to Harry. She took his hand. "Worried about next Friday?"

"I didn't know it showed."

"Maybe lunch will 'elp," Médée said. "Let's send those bags on and go eat."

They went to the Floo center in the middle of the _Milan Quadrato Magico_ and transported the packages to the way station. The wards would alert the elves who would then pick them up and take them back to the school.

The four of them made their way back through the confusing streets that seemed to wind back and forth in odd directions, until Azzurra stopped and pulled them inside a dingy little café.

Harry looked around and scowled at the ripped seats and broken Formica tabletops. Harry didn't mind it at all, but—

"Come on," Azzurra encouraged him. "I promise it's the best food you'll get in Italy."

"I don't doubt it. I just have a hard time placing you here."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him to the back of the room and up four flights of stairs to the rooftop where there more tables, ornately carved from different types of wood. Most of the seating afforded a breathtaking view of the city skyline, including its red roofs. Harry noticed that a warming charm protected the entire area and turned to Azzurra.

"It's my Uncle's," she answered, seeing the question in his face. "The downstairs is for Muggles and is a front for the real business up here."

They sat down at a table and a few minutes later, a portly middle-aged man with a receding black hairline and kind brown eyes stepped out of the doorway. Harry was surprised when he started yelling at Azzurra, but Jaleena and Médée were smirking.

"What's going on?"

"She's getting lectured for not telling him she was in Italy," Jaleena said. "It's quite humorous, really. Let us play dress-up with you again after lunch and I'll put it in a Pensieve and interpret it when we get back tonight."

"Nothing can be worth that much torture," Harry quipped.

She tousled his hair. "It couldn't have been that bad."

"It wasn't," Médée said from the other side of the small table. "I quite thoroughly enjoyed myself."

Harry cleared his throat and looked at the edge of the flat rooftop. "I wonder if Veela can actually fly."

Both Veela giggled at the empty threat.

Azzurra finished with her Uncle and returned to the conversation. "Sorry about that. I haven't seen him in a while. I hope you don't mind, Harry, but I ordered for us."

"That's fine; I can't read the menu anyway."

"True," she responded. "I just figured you had something else you wanted to talk about. You did win the bet, though it took you a week to recover . . . you idiot."

Harry laughed, "Probably not the smartest thing I've done, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't the dumbest either. So what's the big secret?"

"Want to know why Médée washed out her mouth after kissing you?" Azzurra asked.

"Yeah, though that happens every time a Veela kisses me. I just figured I taste bad."

"Every time?" Jaleena asked. "Can you think of any Veela that may have kissed you and didn't want to wash their mouth out?"

"No." Harry answered. "Azzurra just leaned in and sniffed before she ran out of infirmary, Mrs. Delacour kissed me on the forehead, so that doesn't count either. Paige and Gabrielle both—"

"Gabrielle?" Azzurra asked, surprised.

"Yeah, well. . . ." Harry explained what happened.

"The best kind of trouble," Azzurra echoed again, smiling on account of the younger Veela's antics the previous summer. "Anyway, is there anyone else?"

"None that I can think . . . Fleur kissed me on the cheek after she thought I saved Gabrielle's life, but she kissed my best mate too."

Médée unfolded her napkin and laid it in her lap as the first part of the meal arrived. "Did she happen to kiss you any other time?"

Harry thought about that for a second. "Well, yeah, but that doesn't really count."

"Let me guess," Azzurra said, moving her wine glass and dishing up a plate of antipasto. "It was a chaste kiss on the lips, but not a peck, she held her lips to yours for a couple of seconds, and it felt absolutely wonderful, maybe even awe-inspiring."

"Ah, yeah, how did. . . ."

"We have done the same thing to our boyfriends," Jaleena said, gesturing to Médée and herself.

Harry pulled his eyebrows together. "What does that mean?"

"It is called 'marking." By doing it, we informed any Veela our boyfriends may meet that another Veela is in love with them. That mark puts a type of scent and taste on them that repulses most other Veela. The more we fall in love with our mates, the stronger it gets, until not even a naturally full Veela like Azzurra can break it."

Harry's eyes grew larger and larger as he began to understand what they were telling him. "Why didn't she. . . ." he pushed a couple of olives around on his plate. "So what else do I need to know?"

"As the love for a wizard grows, we can choose to open our magic up even more to him." she continued. "Remember what you felt holding our hands those first couple of weeks?"

"Kind of hard to forget," Harry answered, staring down at his plate of cured meats, cheeses, and olives.

All three Veela laughed.

"It's like that, only a lot more intimate." Azzurra said. "Once we're ready, we can even bypass a lot of barriers that normal wizards put up towards love. It doesn't make them love us, but rather, it lets them know that they are really and truly loved."

He listened, thinking back to the last night in the Burrow. "I think . . . I may have felt that once."

Three pair of Avian eyes focused on him. "If she did," Azzurra said slowly, emphasizing every word. "Then not only did she mark you as a mate, but she has chosen to bathe you in her love—it is the most intimate magic a Veela has—and is _not _something that is given away lightly. If she did that for you, then she opened her heart and gave of herself to you; and unless I'm wrong, she was doing the same for you when she was at Durmstrang, wasn't she?"

"I thought she was just giving me better dreams. . . ."

"Dreams?" Médée raised an eyebrow. "That's a different part of our magic; you really did get a Veela education, didn't you?"

Harry stared out over the city, not seeing a thing. His chest felt like it was constricting as he nodded. "Why didn't she tell me any of this?"

"If you haven't noticed, Veela are strange creatures." Azzurra reminded him. "Either we want to be in charge and revel in our Veela powers, or we want to run away from them. Fleur probably wanted you to choose her for her, instead of always wondering if she manipulated you into liking her– or even loving her."

Harry thought back to the night in the cave. "I guess I understand. I didn't react well the one time she tried to use her magic to get me to do something."

At the look on their faces, he told them that story as well. By the end of it, he had related pretty much everything up to the time he left for Durmstrang, filling in the pieces that had been left out in previous conversations. What he didn't count on, was his Veela-chicks failing to hold back the grins, giggles, and finally, outright guffaws by the time he finished.

"I'm glad you all find it humorous," he sniped.

"We don't mean to laugh at you," Jaleena said "It's just that it seems the two of you have tried so hard to protect each other that you both ended up making a mess out of it. It's sweet, it's romantic, and it's amusing as hell, at least from the outside. It also makes me feel better about Fleur. I think you know how the three of us feel about you and if any witch causes you problems. . . ."

Harry smiled. "Except for you three, right?"

"And Gabrielle," Médée clarified.

"Can't forget her," Harry agreed, and then leaned back in his chair. "I just keep thinking about how much I hurt Fleur. She probably feels like I spit on her very soul."

"From the smell of it," Médée began, to choreographed eye rolls from the other two Veela, "I think she'll forgive you, but take my advice. You have to be honest with her and tell her both how you feel now and felt then. Tell her _why _you didn't want her to be a part of whatever it was she joined. Tell her how you felt when she held your hand, and when she said the things she did the day you visited Paris. A Veela senses emotion and when emotion is based on truth, it's powerful. Even if she isn't used to using that part of her gifts, it's too innate to turn off."

Harry listened, asked more questions, then listened some more.

The food was absolutely delicious - once he actually able to eat.

**X ****~ X ~ X ~ X**

The following week raced bye and before Harry knew it; he was saying goodbye to his Veela-chicks and other friends. Markus promised to come by the Delacour house over the holidays and train with him a couple of days to help him stay with it. He informed Harry that it'd also be a good time to go over the spring schedule of classes.

All of that faded into the background, however, as Harry took a Portkey from Durmstrang to the Way station, and then from there to where he was standing now, looking up at the Delacour manor decorated for Christmas. Wreaths lined the windows and doors. The trees were lit up with fairy lights and traditional Christmas decorations were hung as far as the eye could see. Music and laughter floated down from a top Floor that Harry had never set foot in. He glanced up to it, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw through a window, the profile of the most beautiful flower he had ever known.


	15. The Fateful Moment

.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**The Fateful Moment**

Harry watched as his Flower stepped away from the window, her platinum blonde hair loosely pulled back from her face and falling in waves down her back. He was awed by the red hues, dancing across the silk knee-length fabric that hugged her lithe body as she moved.

His knees buckled and he barely caught himself on his trunk about the same time another blonde-haired angel peered through the window, looked down at him, and smirked. She reappeared in the front doorway a few seconds later.

"'Arry!"

"Gabby?"

"Of course, who else would come to your rescue?" she asked, throwing her arms around him and squeezing.

He returned the hug, and then back up and looked at her. "You look gorgeous tonight. How many wizards am I going to have to curse tonight to keep you safe?"

She giggled, pecked him on the cheek, then twisted out of his arms. "None, unfortunately. It's mainly family and close friends tonight, though that's probably a good thing, I doubt you'd be able to curse a first year right now."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Because it looked like you turned into a squib the moment you saw Fleur. I'd have to defend my own honor."

Harry exaggerated a roll of the eyes and Gabrielle giggled again.

"Come on." She motioned in the general direction of the house. "Let's sneak through your apartment in the basement."

Harry followed her around to the side of the house and through the basement door, but he jolted to a halt as soon as he crossed the threshold. The old bookshelves, the soft, low-slung couch, and the muted throw rug on the light-colored wooden floors all brought back a wave of feelings from last summer: guilt over surviving the massacre; anger, heartache, and confusion over Fleur; nausea from his first time getting drunk—

"Don't tell me you forgot where your bedroom is," Gabrielle interrupted. "Or would you rather save time and float your trunk upstairs to Fleur's room?"

"I swear, before the night's over . . ." he left the threat hanging and reached out to muss her hair as he focused on the present again, but she ducked out of the way and bounced towards the door to his old bedroom.

"So, where's Hedwig?" she asked, opening it.

"I let her fly back." Harry answered, and floated his trunk to the foot of his bed before, unlatched it, and threw the lid back. Books; a fur-lined, blood-red winter robe; and a pile of clothes tumbled out. Harry jumped out of the way before a four-hundred page monograph titled, "Speculative Theories Concerning Connections between Emotion and Magic" slid off the bed and thunked down on the floor.

Gabrielle gave the scene a disapproving shake of the head. "Nice packing job, but I think you forgot Hedwig's cage."

"I figured she could use the Owlery, smartarse." He bent down and gathered the pile of clothes, throwing them into the wicker basket against the far wall, then picked up the book off the floor. "Unless you destroyed it while I was gone."

She gave him an eye roll of her own and snagged the fallen robe, hanging it in the closet.

While her back was turned, Harry pulled his shirts out of the trunk. He began refolding them just as Sirius had taught him, but after the fourth or fifth one, a small hand laid on top of his and he looked up into a pair of eyes that were fast becoming as enrapturing as Jaleena's—though these were accompanied with a mischievous smile.

"There's no way I'm letting you skip the party to stay down here and unpack," Gabrielle said. "If your Veela-chicks found out, they'd de-plume me for sure."

"My Veela-chicks?" Harry asked, savoring the familial warmth of her hand. "And are these 'Veela-chicks' expecting an owl from you about what happens tonight?"

"Of course," she answered, her mischievous smile growing wider. "Anything else you wanna know while you're stalling?"

Harry mumbled something about obstinate Veela as she pulled her hand away, then deposited herself in an overstuffed chair in the corner of the room.

"Planning on watching?" he asked.

She crossed her arms. "I'll close my eyes—you'll get dressed faster if you think I'm peeking."

"Absolute trouble," he huffed, collected a small bag and a pair of boxers, before heading to the bathroom and a shower.

He turned on the water, completely forgetting the lesson he had learned over the summer.

"Blimey!" Harry scoot back from the cold spray and pushed the showerhead to face the wall, completely missing the bathroom door opening as he continued. "All the magic in the world and we still haven't—"

"What are you doing?!" Gabrielle interrupted, yanking open the shower curtain. "You're supposed to be getting dressed!"

Harry covered himself with his washcloth. "Get out of here!" he yelled and reached for the curtain with his free hand, but she pulled it back even farther, glaring at him.

"If you keep wasting time, I'm going to take a gander a little lower and Pensieve the memory for your Durmstrang harem!"

"My what?"

Her wink pushed him over the edge and Harry reached for the showerhead and turned it on her.

She jumped, barely avoiding getting soaked, but when she let go, Harry took hold of the curtain and snapped it back into place. On second thought, he pulled the curtain back and stuck his hand out, summoned his wand off the counter, then cast a Sticking Charm on the end of the curtain before pushing it back against the wall.

Hopefully he was safe from voyeurs now.

"What happened to my innocent little sister?"

"She turned out to be a dangerous and wickedly beautiful Veela—now shut up and finish your shower or next time, I'll make sure to look at something other than your eyes!"

He heard the door click behind her and peeked out from the non-charmed end of the curtain to make sure she left, then cast a Locking Charm on the door.

Finished with his shower a few minutes later, he stepped onto the bathroom tile, dried off, and pulled on a pair of boxers.

"You still out there?" He asked.

"Of course," she answered from the other side of the wall.

"Go to the sitting room for a moment, I'm coming out."

"Why, are you naked?"

"What? No!"

"Damn . . . that's okay, I'll stay anyway."

Harry shook his head, hung the towel on the bar, and then stuck his head out the door. "If you want me to put a certain memory of you in a Pensieve and show it to everyone upstairs. . ."

Gabrielle's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me . . . _little_ sister."

"Um, yeah, I think I'll wait in the sitting room," she said, turning pale. He watched as she swept out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

With a grin at her antics, Harry stepped out of the bathroom and noticed that Gabrielle had laid out his trousers and shirt on the bed.

He picked the trousers up and realized that they had been re-pressed. Gabrielle must have had Froissé do it, he thought, slipping them on and taking the time to relish the feel of the silk/wool blend. He ran his hand across the fabric three or four times, then pulled the legs up and let them drop, watching how the creases reappeared in the same place every time.

_So this is what it is like to wear brand new dress clothes. I may have to do this more often._

He snaked a dragon-skin belt through the loops and yanked it tight, but before he could buckle it and without any conscious decision, his wand streaked into his outstretched hand and he spun as it touched his fingers, a curse already on his lips.

"It's just me!" Gabrielle squeaked. She couldn't help but let her eyes trace over his still naked upper body. "Perie-le-Snik! What happened to you?"*

He tossed his wand back on the bed and picked up his shirt. "At least I now know you didn't get a good look at me in the shower."

"Yeah, but maybe I'm wishing I did," she answered in a breathy, surprised voice.

A hint of amusement crept into his, "By the way your gawking at me, it's probably better that you didn't."

Her cheeks flushed a cute pink and she looked up from his chest. "Um, sorry?"

He laughed. "At least I'm not running down the hall starkers flashing my _derriere_."

Gabrielle's flush turned bright red. "Whatever, get dressed!" she ordered, backing up and leaning against the wall.

"Yes, ma'am."

Harry pulled on a black silk shirt that had two extra seams running at an angle up the back, removing any excess material. Azzurra had insisted that he wear it tonight and when he tried to argue with her, she threatened to curse him.

He felt self-conscious wearing something so form fitting—the shirt lay smooth over his chest and tapered down to his waist—instead of the overly large hand-me-downs that he used to wear. It was the reason he still bought most of his shirts a size or two too large.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, looking at up Gabrielle, and had to wait while she swallowed a couple of times before finding her voice.

"I think I'm going to make sure I have a clear view of the room upstairs before you make your entrance," she answered.

He picked up a pair of socks and whipped them at her, but she gracefully sidestepped them.

"Fleur's reaction is definitely going to be Pensieve-worthy, and Paige just may kiss you again!"

A second pair of socks caught her between the eyes. Gabrielle stumbled back a step in surprise, then picked up both pairs and whipped them back at him, missing horribly. The second pair hit a vase on the shelf. It rocked backwards, then pirouetted and fell. Harry's hand flashed out and he caught the overly large Snitch just before it shattered on the floor.

"Thank you!" she gushed. "Maman would have killed me—that vase is made of material that can't be spelled back together."

Harry set the vase back on the shelf. "I guess we should add bad aim to your list of things to work on," he teased.

Gabrielle nodded, probably still in fear of what her mother would have done to her.

Harry slipped on the dragon-skin dress shoes that Jaleena had bought him—she _did_ hex him when he tried to argue with her about it—and felt a tug on his hair. He looked back to find Gabrielle removing the leather tieback. His hair fell out to its full length and she ran her hands through it, and then stepped away.

"Gabby, what are—"

"Shh! I'm thinking."

Harry was also thinking, mainly about throwing something a bit harder at her.

She motioned for him to turn around.

"Happy?" he asked, finishing the spin.

"Shh! I said! I'm still trying to decide . . ."

He gave her yet another eye roll.

"I think this will work," she concluded a few seconds later, and put the tieback in his hair again, though quite a bit lower than he normally wore it. "Now turned back to me," she instructed.

He did, and she backed up and looked at him once more, then nodded to herself. "Ready for the famous Delacour Christmas party?"

"No, but that's not going to stop you from dragging me up there, is it?"

"Of course not!" she chortled, then took his hand and pulled him out of the bedroom.

They walked through the hallway and up the stairs towards the main floor, but as they reached it, her mother caught sight of Gabrielle.

"Oh, there you are. Could you—"

Her eyes locked onto Harry. "You made it!" she cried, and pulled him into a hug, then stepped back and cast an appraising eye on him. "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you. I'm glad you're here . . . and in one piece."

Her demeanor changed as fast as a flick of a wand.

"The next time you scare the hell out of me by trying to kill yourself against a mountain, I'll hit you with so many curses you'll never fly again, I don't care how big you're getting, understand?" she said, a tremor running through her voice. She looked away and wiped at something in her eye.

Harry thought about the maternal feeling he felt when she kissed him on the forehead and later, what Azzurra said to him about Veela magic and adoption.

"Thank you," he answered in a small voice.

The look Mrs. Delacour flashed was one of surprise shifting to understanding, then she smiled and took him by the wrist. "Enough Veela histrionics; let me introduce you to a few people."

She led him into the small family room off the kitchen. It looked like last summer with the couch in the middle of the room, looking out over the valley and farther, to the town and ocean; but tonight, wreaths, fairy lights, and various other accouterments highlighted the room in a holiday theme. "Anastasie, Maryse, could you come over here?"

Two full and very powerful Veela walked towards them.

"This is the young man I have been going on about." Mrs. Delacour said. "Let me introduce you to _Monsieur_ 'Arry Potter."

Harry took each of their hands in turn and kissed the inside of their wrist, showing proper deference in the Veela way.

He noticed the questioning look Mrs. Delacour and Gabrielle gave him, and decided to confuse them a little more.

"_Je suis enchantée de faire votre connaissance,_" Harry said to Anastasie.**

"French?" Gabrielle managed to croak out.

"I can see why they opened their arms to you," Anastasie remarked. "I look forward to getting to know you, but I'm sure you don't want to spend the evening speaking with an old lady when there are so many younger and more beautiful ones upstairs."

Harry realized just how much he owed his Veela-chicks. All the teasing and forcing him to concentrate among the sexual tension, especially with Médée, was about to pay off.

"No one here fits the description of an old lady," he answered. "And I am sure I'd be hard pressed to find greater beauty or conversation as well."

A snort and a chuckle drew his attention to Maryse. "Be careful 'Arry, or you might provoke the old crow into using her Veela magic. Never trust a Flock Leader."

A sharp twill and a few clicking sounds escaped from Anastasie. Maryse bit down on her lips, but her eyes sparkled in laughter.

"A Flock Leader?" Harry asked, before catching himself. He inclined his head and pulled out his wand, laying it in his open left palm, then covered his heart with his right. "I didn't know you were a member of the Zekēnōt. Please accept my apology for not immediately showing you the proper honor due a Flock Leader."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Mrs. Delacour's look of complete befuddlement, mixed with shock. He had to check himself to keep from sniggering at this most inappropriate of moments.

Anastasie drew herself up and Harry found himself engulfed in a regal aura. The air hummed with Ancient Veela magic.

"Young wizard," her voice resonated through the room. "If all your kind showed us such respect, the magical world would have a far different history. You honor me and bring honor ten-fold to a race that has acted opposite to the Veela nation all too often."

She winked and the regal air dissipated just that fast. "But be careful, 'Arry; Maryse was right, my magic may just slip and—"

"Oh knock it off," Mrs. Delacour interrupted, finally looking like she was in charge of her faculties again. "Impertinent hen, go hit my husband with your magic instead of 'Arry, it's been hours since he's made a fool of himself."

Anastasie cocked her head to the side, her avian nature almost visible in the way she looked at Mrs. Delacour. "I just may have to do that."

"Good, Pensieve the memory for me so we can watch it later."

"I'm looking forward to it," Anastasie said with a laugh, then turned to say something to Maryse when in the blink of an eye, the levity ceased and Anastasie was once again the regal Flock Leader.

She turned to Gabrielle and held out her hand. "If you please, my dear."

Gabrielle, her pupils slightly dilated with fear, placed her wrist in the offered hand. Anastasie lifted it to her nose, then with a scowl, leaned forward and took in more of Gabrielle's scent. After a moment, she pulled back, looking at Mrs. Delacour a little relieved, but also perplexed.

"The other one," Mrs. Delacour said in an almost whisper.

Harry wasn't sure whether the surge in magic was in anger or surprise, but it disappeared as quickly as he felt it and damn, was she ever powerful.

"Explain," Anastasie ordered, giving Mrs. Delacour a hard look.

"The story is long, but if she is to be believed, and I do, it came about naturally and after much suffering."

"Was it mutually agreed upon?"

"No, but she waits, letting choices be made without interference even as it has had the effects you asked about earlier."

"So I was right then?" Anastasie asked.

"We shall see, maybe tonight, maybe not."

Harry looked back and forth between the two of them, and surmised that it had to do with Fleur—and probably him as well.

"Mrs. Delacour, is Fleur in trouble?"

She looked at Harry, then at Anastasie, as if she was waiting for the answer herself.

"Why would that be of your concern, young Potter?"

Harry raised his chin towards Anastasie and answered with a confidence won over the last few months of training. "She's risked death by the hand of Voldemort to save my life."

"Is that the only reason?" the Flock Leader asked.

He felt himself deflate. "No, but the other is much more complicated."

Her eyes bore into him, then traced over every shadow and muscle in his face, neck, and shoulders, before she came to a conclusion half a minute later.

Anastasie nodded. "It usually is with Veela. We will most definitely meet again before your term begins. I trust Apolline will make that come about, perhaps over dinner."

"I'll see to it as soon as the party is over," Mrs. Delacour confirmed.

Anastasie nodded to Maryse and they walked towards the stairwell to head back up to the party.

Harry was about to ask what had just happened when Anastasie turned back to him. "I'm sorry, Harry," she said, wearing an amused smile. "But I forgot to tell you, 'Good luck tonight; I think you're going to need it.'"

She cackled merrily and dragged Maryse with her up the stairs.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked.

"Just Veela stuff," Mrs. Delacour answered, looking more than a little relieved, but also annoyed. "She's keenly interested in you and Fleur. Anyway, let me introduce you to everyone else."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry found himself in a private sitting room off the Master bedroom.

"Only immediate family is allowed in here," Mrs. Delacour said as she closed the door and gestured to the staircase. "Those lead to the top floor; use them and this room tonight if you need to get away for a few minutes."

Harry thanked her.

"I'll hear nothing of it. Now it's about time I show myself upstairs again. If Anastasie took me up on my offer, who knows how my husband's embarrassed the family by now," she finished with a grin. "Come up when you're ready."

Mrs. Delacour put a hand on Gabrielle's back and pushed her gently towards the stairs. "Let's give 'Arry a few moments alone. I imagine it's an adjustment from Durmstrang."

Gabrielle opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her lips at her mother's glare. Halfway up the stairs however, Gabrielle stopped and flashed Harry a big grin. "If you can take on an entire mountain, a flower should be nothing."

"Gabrielle!" Mrs. Delacour cried out, swatting her on the rear. "Get up there and leave 'Arry alone!" Gabrielle ran up the stairs, giggling like mad again, with her mother chasing after her. But when the door opened, another voice floated down into the room. "Gabrielle, 'ave you seen _Maman_? Oh, there she—"

The door clicked shut and he heard nothing else but his heart, now suddenly hammering in his chest. He fought off the urge to run downstairs and Portkey back to Durmstrang, though it helped to remember that if he showed up at the school tonight, he'd face the wrath—and curses—of three Veela. There were few things that Harry wanted less than facing his Veela-chicks in full-feather . . . of course, one of those things used to be Hermione banging on about SPEW.

His laughter filled the room at the random thought of Hermione's one-witch crusade for elf-rights. The memory calmed the thumping in his chest, so he allowed himself to reminisce about his two best mates. She was a saint for putting up with him and Ron. Then again, she could be just as much a prat as either of them when she wanted to be. "_Oh look, Fleur's playing mail-owl again; I wonder what Gabrielle said in passing that she just has to tell you about this time?" _

Harry's eyes snapped open. "She knew! Why couldn't she have told me?" he asked the empty room, now understanding what Hermione was hinting at. The revelation began a cavalcade of memories, starting with Hermione and Ron teasing each other that last night, then Hermione teasing Harry again about Fleur as they left him at the gate while she walked up.

The memories continued, and soon Harry was reliving the third task;_ racing through the maze, meeting up with Cedric and then Fleur; Krum almost hexing us and then joining to finish the task –grabbing for the cup. . ._

The scenes rushed by; the graveyard, the cauldron, Cedric's death and Harry's fight with Voldemort; but as the Phoenix song began, it's meaning crashed over him—"Do not break the golden beam, _ta bien-aimée fleur a besoin de temps pour récupérer._"

"Do not break the golden beam, your beloved Flower. . ."

"My beloved . . . Fleur? What?"

Harry thought back to the curses they were casting—watching as Fleur and Krum continued to battle even after all they had gone through in the maze. . .

. . . And she was the one that raced across the graveyard; it surprised him since Krum _was _closer. Why would she sacrifice herself . . . she was so worried . . . _Your beloved Flower_;could it have been? _Your beloved Flower. . . _could she have started to care for him even before that hell had descended upon them? Is it possible that he started to care for her?

_Your beloved Flower. . . _Harry stumbled back and grabbed a hold of the windowsill, the weight of this second revelation hitting him like a herd of stampeding Abraxans. . ._ Needs time to recover._

My Flower . . . needed time to recover?

"Oh, bloody hell, how could I have been so stupid!"

His hands were ice; his heart, a jackhammer. He looked out of the window at the star drenched sky.

"Hermione, Ron, help me . . . I'm about to make a ruddy fool of myself!" The words barely passed his lips before he hit the steps two at a time. He reached the top and threw the door open, scanning the room for his Flower.

She was standing with her back to him by the fireplace, looking smaller, less healthy than he remembered, but her beauty still radiated throughout the room, outshining every Veela there.

Harry, now six-feet tall and thirteen-stone with the body of a warrior and a look to match, commanded the attention of every person present. Discussion ceased as he strode across the floor, the crackling of the fire behind an ancient metal grille the only remaining noise among the eighty plus guests; except Fleur who was still carrying on a quiet conversation with Paige, oblivious to the unfolding scene behind her.

Paige caught her breath as Harry approached. Her eyes flicked to him, back to Fleur, then to him again. Fleur's words trailed off into silence and slowly, she turned around.

A champagne glass slipped out her hand and shattered on the hardwood floor.

"'Arry?"

For an answer, he gently touched her cheek, tracing a path down behind her ear and to the back of her neck, then he wrapped his other arm around her slender waist.

Fleur's eyes widened.

At the last moment, the left side of his lips pulled back in a cheeky smirk—and then he dipped her just as he'd seen done a hundred times in the old movies he watched on Privet Drive when no one else was home.

With eyes closed, he sank into breathless perfection. The universe melted away leaving only the feeling of life and love surging through him, the warmth of her lips, the caressing fingers that burned his cheeks with their delicate touch, they were the only reminders that he had not ascended into the heavens.

And then it was over.

He pulled away and set her on her feet again.

"_Oui_," his voice echoed in the utter silence, answering her question.

He nodded to Paige, then turned and walked away; trying nonchalantly to reach for a glass of champagne and hoping no one saw his hand shaking. He drained it in one tip of the head while heading towards the balcony, wondering what in the hell he had just done.

Gabrielle happened to be standing by the sliding doors, grinning widely and holding out her hand. Harry gave her the glass and stepped outside.

She slid the door closed behind him as the room exploded in cheers.

** X ~ X ~ X ~ X **

Fleur was unable to focus, unable to catch her breath, and unable to stand. "_Mon Dieu!_" she rasped, and grabbed Paige to keep herself from crumpling to the floor, but she didn't miss Harry as he downed a glass of champagne and disappeared into the night.

"Breathe, Fleur, come on! Take a breath for me," Paige encouraged, still holding her up.

She took Paige's advice, relieving the burning sensation in her lungs that she wasn't even aware of a moment before.

"Where did he go?" she asked in a shaky voice.

Even more laughter and cheers answered her question. She looked for Harry, but all she saw was Gabrielle, standing with an empty champagne glass in one hand and her other on the sliding door—and then Fleur understood.

He left without saying goodbye . . . again.

She turned to look at Paige.

"Oh, shit," Paige whispered. "I thought you were kidding when you said you'd hex him half the night."

"Half?" Fleur growled as she started towards the door.

Gabrielle stepped in front of it, her arms crossed and her foot tapping a staccato beat on the hardwood. She raised an eyebrow.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way!"

The tapping stopped.

"Don't do anything stupid," Gabrielle threatened. "Remember what drove him to Durmstrang in the first place."

Fleur pierced her with a look and waited until she stepped aside, then opened the door and walked out. She saw a figure meandering down in the garden by the wall on the west side of the estate.

Briefly, she wondered how Harry had ended up down there since there were no stairs, but she put it out of her mind as she reached the end of the balcony. Without hesitation, she stepped up on a bench, put a foot on the railing, and pushed off.

Calling on her magic, she transformed, spreading her wings to slow her decent as she landed on the ground below, then transformed back. After taking a moment to re-adjust her dress, Fleur squared her shoulders and marched off towards the garden. Every step she took was filled with emotion: joy at being in his presence warring with anger at everything she'd been through over the last few months; relief that the conversation so long overdue was finally coming, conflicting with fear at what she would hear . . . and say. But as she closed the distance, something else within her took over and her entire countenance blazed with want.

"'Ow dare you kiss me in front of all those people and then walk out on me!" She spat out when she reached him. Without waiting for an answer, she clutched his shirt in both hands and yanked him forward, their bodies crashing into each other.

She planted her lips on his and a primal need surged forth, her Veela nature emerging hungry and predatory. Needing more of him, she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him tighter, her hands tangling in his hair and more than aware of the arms that wrapped around her; they were larger, stronger than they were last summer, but so much more important than that, was something that she was finally feeling again, something she had silently longed for since the day he pulled her into his embrace in the Burrow.

She was safe; she was cared for; she was home.

Fleur rested in that feeling until a need to understand what was happening took over. She pulled back and began firing off questions.

"Why did you say you didn't want to be with me this summer? Why did you try to shut me out? Why didn't you let me 'elp you? Why didn't you tell me you were leaving for Durmstrang? Why didn't yooummph—"

Harry shut her up the best way he knew how—and Fleur was very thankful, but she needed answers. She tried to pull away from his beckoning lips, his entrancing eyes, the demeanor of strength with an undercurrent of danger all mixed with innocence that called out to her— Her lips searched for bliss once again. Finding it, she lost herself until the need for air made her pull back, gasping.

Who's the Veela?She shook her head to clear it before beginning.

"'Arry," she said, still fighting the protests of her body that demanded she shut up and kiss him again. "I know I was wrong and that I 'urt you, but I need you to answer my questions."

Fleur peered up in to his eyes, hoping, even praying that he understood why.

Almost as an answer, he traced his fingertips down her arm and a jolt of electricity followed his touch. Harry took her hand and they walked down the path a bit farther in the moonlight, and then stopped at a little knoll where the ground leveled out. He gently pulled Fleur towards him and let go of her hand, grabbed her waist, and set her down on top of the rock wall.

The lack of effort on his part wasn't lost on her, nor was the anxiety, the pain, and the fear clear in the set of his jaw and firmness around his eyes.

"I owe you a lot of answers, and a few apologies," he finally said.

Something in his voice caused a tingle of fear to trace a course through her body, leaving a sense of foreboding.

"I need to apologize for what I have done. When I first arrived at Durmstrang, Azzurra, Jaleena, and Médée came into my dorm to introduce themselves."

Fleur's eyes pricked as tears formed. Anger welled up at the confession she feared was coming, but she had learned her lessons well enough about jumping to conclusions, and remained silent.

"They sussed out pretty quickly that I was having what they called, 'witch troubles,' and took it upon themselves to straighten me out. Once they realized that you were a Veela, they made me take a class that discussed your history and culture. I learned much in that class."

The clutching in her chest relented a little.

"I learned that I hurt you in ways I couldn't even imagine. I can't even blame you for the things you said that day we visited Paris."

Fleur opened her mouth to interrupt, but Harry continued. "I learned that you bathed me in your love and chased away my nightmares while we were in the Burrow.

"And, I learned that by acting like a child, I spit on your very soul."

Harry absentmindedly pulled the tieback out and ran his hands through is hair, shaking it out. Fleur watched his every movement until his eyes caught hers again and she was captivated by their sublimity.

"I'm sorry, Fleur, after everything you did for me, I don't know how you can forgive me after I treated you like . . . like. . ."

She put a hand on his chest and shook her head, having heard enough. "Thank you 'Arry, but I am as much at fault if not more. I didn't think about what the Order represented to you, about all the people who you cared about and 'ow much loss you and your friends 'ave suffered by your parents being involved with it. I didn't think about you being worried that something would 'appen to me . . ." she paused, a look of uncertainty crossing her face. "You do care—don't you? All of this, I mean . . . they are so much more beautiful than me. I wouldn't blame you, not after the things I said."

"Who?" Harry asked, confused.

"Your Veela-chicks," her mouth twisted over the words, her voice barely louder than the breeze that caressed the trees behind them. "Their 'earts are so beautiful. The way they took care of you . . . I realized 'ow little I still know about caring for people, and after the way I treated you this summer, 'ow could you choose me and not one of them?"

"Fleur, I've thought about you every day, and dreamt about you every night."

She was caught off guard, hearing him speak French. Then she realized what he had actually said, and the words stole her breath away. Could it be true? She wanted it to be, yearned for it to be. Could he really still feel that way? She thought she had ruined it all, and now it was being offered to her with a golden wand.

"How can you still care?" she asked, desperately wanting to believe him.

"Because of what you did for me, because you, you . . . loved me."

"And I still do," she confessed, the words rushing out before she could catch them, still not quite able to accept that she'd been given a second chance. "I so want to believe you, 'Arry, I want to believe that I didn't destroy everything between us, that I didn't push you into the arms of a Veela that's so much more deserving of you than I am."

She couldn't stop the tears that washed over her eyelashes and down her cheeks. Harry wiped them away, his touch causing her skin to pulsate with heat in rhythm with her heart. She found herself again entranced by the man in front of her and longed to take him into her arms.

As if he knew, Harry stepped closer, his body now inches away. His breath danced across her cheek as he spoke. "I've felt your love. The night the Burrow was attacked. I woke up before you and felt it, felt the depth of what you were giving to me. No one has ever given that much of themselves for me. How can I forget that?"

She leaned back slightly, searching his eyes for any hint of a lie. "It's too good to be true," she said quietly.

"Will you believe my magic?" he asked, his breath dancing again on her cheek as he spoke.

She closed her eyes, savoring the feeling. Unless he had turned dark in the last four months, his magic wouldn't lie, couldn't lie; and though her underdeveloped empathic sense testified that both he and his magic had changed, he was still 'Arry, and he wasn't dark; at least not yet.

And he's going to stay that way, she decided. It was her responsibility to make sure, because she loved him too much to lose him to revenge and the Dark Arts.

"Yes," she finally answered, and pressed her cheek against his lips, feeling the pressure as he leaned in as well. The chaste kiss touched her soul more deeply than anything she'd ever experienced before.

Harry wiped away her last remaining tears before stepping back, but Fleur saw something in his eyes that she'd never seen before, a look of contentment, of peace, of . . . joy.

It looked foreign on him, but it also looked very, very good.

She reached out for him, wanting to hold her wizard, but stopped short; her hands dropped to her side as she watched Harry's _Patronus_ soar into the air, hauntingly majestic. The ancient progenitor stretched its wings, banked, and came back towards them. Fleur felt her magic call out to the _Patronus, _then link with it, confirming the love that she believed Harry felt for her. As it passed over her head, she heard Harry's voice emanating from it, "My beloved Flower."

Fleur turned to watch it fly by, but it dissipated into a mist above their heads.

She turned back to Harry with a timid smile and reached for his shirt, pulling him into her again.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she rested a delicate finger on his lips. "Shh, 'Arry. I believe you, and I give you my 'eart."

Harry cupped her hand and pulled it down so he could speak. "You offered it to me a long time ago. I am the one that pushed you away."

"Please, 'Arry, I understand why, I was foolish to not speak with you first."

She watched the emotion play on his face.

When he finally spoke, her jaw dropped at hearing her mother tongue spoken as if he had actually learned it, rather than memorizing a few lines to impress her.

"I reacted as a child. It was something I found I did often. The first day at Durmstrang I reacted the same way over something and faced the wrath of a naturally full Veela"—Harry chuckled—"you were right, by the way, very scary."

Despite the serious conversation and heavy emotion, Fleur found herself laughing. "I warned you," she said in a cute, chiding voice. "And while we're talking about things you learned, when did you start speaking French?"

"Azzurra was going on about magic and control one day. I got tired of it and cast a _Patronus_ to shut her up." He raised an eyebrow. "It used to be a stag. Imagine my surprise."

A content smile played on her face as Harry continued. "I had no idea what it was. Unfortunately, Azzurra, Médée and Jaleena were all in the room. They quickly sussed out that my "witch problem" was not only Veela, but also the Beauxbatons Champion. They forced me to start learning French the next day on top of Veela classes."

"Remind me to thank them."

"A couple good hexings should suffice," Harry said with a small laugh. "But, that night back at the Burrow, I was afraid of losing you. After losing so many others, and after everything that had happened over those last few days, I couldn't bear to think about it so instead, I acted like a git and said some pretty cruel things. . ."

Fleur placed her hand on his cheek, able to look slightly down at him from her seat on the top of the wall. "And then I hurt you the next morning when I slapped you." She swallowed hard before continuing. "Not even two days before that I made a promise to never hurt you, but that day I broke it in the worst possible way."

A slight tremor ran through her hands, just as it did every time she had rehearsed this part of the conversation over the last few weeks.

No matter how much the answer to her next question hurt however, she had to know, so that she could own up to it and make it right. "Please be honest with me, 'Arry. Was that why you pulled away from me?"

"No," he answered, his voice growing empty and flat again. "I wish it were; it'd be so much easier."

"Then what?" she asked, the tendril of fear curling up her spine yet again. "Tell me, I don't want anything left unsaid between us."

Harry stepped back from her and turned to look down the moonlit valley. "Please Fleur, not tonight."

The tremors increased, but she ignored them and pushed herself off the wall. "Yes, 'Arry, tonight. I will not sleep until I have bared my heart to you—and hope you'll do the same."

He took a breath and closed his eyes, but when he opened them, she had to bite her tongue to stop from crying out.

Standing before her once again was a hero whose heart had just died.

With an emotionless voice he confessed, "I'm a Horcrux."

"I know," she whispered, moving to wrap her arms around him, but he backed away. Anger and rejection surged to the surface and she barely caught it in time before brutally shoving it back down.

"Do you?" he asked. "Do you really know what it means?"

She stared. The foreboding and fear morphed into impinging doom.

"The one thing the myths of your origins left out, the most important part of the story you told Remus and me that morning in the Burrow, was that those men could be killed as long as the Horcruxes were destroyed."

"I know zhat, it is why the Order was . . ." And then it clicked.

"Destroyed?" she asked, her voice brittle.

"Yes, Fleur, I'm going to die. Either fighting Voldemort or by my own hand as soon as I kill him, in order to destroy the Horcrux."

"NO!"

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

On the balcony, Paige, Gabrielle, and a number of their cousins and friends watched the show in the garden. They couldn't hear anything and really, they didn't want to. But the entertainment quality was something they'd remember for years to come. A brassed off Fleur had stormed out of the party and didn't even break stride as she dropped from the balcony, transforming in midair and falling over twenty-five feet to the ground below. The scene emptied half the room. They cheered when Fleur launched herself at Harry, attempting to suffocate him with her kisses. A minute later, they watched as Harry shut her up with another kiss, and they cheered again.

They went inside for a while, but when the older adults went to bed, the younger Veela and a few others congregated back out on the balcony. They had just found chairs and settled in for the show when they saw Fleur barely remember to push out her magic and save her dress. Her heels, however, exploded as she transformed again while a screamed, "No," echoed up the valley.

"Ahem," Gabrielle cleared her throat rather loudly and held out her hand. "Full-feather in less than ten minutes of watching; pay up."

She smiled a few seconds later, now almost twenty Galleons richer as most of the balcony had foolishly bet against her. It was her sister, after all, and except for Paige, only she knew how much Harry could wind her up.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The slow movement of Apolline's hand was the epitome of stealth. She chose her target, right there . . . she tuned out her husband's ramblings, though she nodded a couple of times, letting her hair fall forward to better hide her movement. Wait; there were two, even three, and close together, as if they were trying to gain support from each other—but she wouldn't have that, not if she could help it. Her hand now perched, ready to strike; she closed an eye to make sure she was seeing them correctly, and went in for the kill—

"OUCH! Stop plucking my chest hair! I don't care _how _gray they are!" Her husband yelled, rubbing his chest. "Damn wicked Veela!"

She curled up into a ball beside him, pressed her faced into his ribs, and laughed so hard her sides began to hurt almost immediately.

He rubbed his chest and then flicked her gently on the nose, causing her to smile. "Would you please tell me where, in all of your literature, law, or lore, it says that _anything _positive can come from ripping out your husband's chest hair at six-thirty in the morning?"

"Honey, you married a Veela," she equivocated.

"And what's that supposed to mean? I have to endure follicle abuse?"

She pulled out her "hurt little girl"look. "You're not going to deny me my heritage, are you?"

"Heritage? Oh please. How is your gray-hair fetish is related to your heritage? This I HAVE to hear!"

Apolline looked up at him from under her eyelids, giving him the cutest, yet most sultry look she could manage in the early morning hour. "I was preening you, love. All us birds do it."

He groaned and threw the covers back. "If that's all you have, I'm headed into the office."

Apolline latched on to him, resting her head on his chest. "You're not going anywhere, grouch! It's your day off."

"And it's a shame, too," he answered, but she felt his hand as it slid down her back to rest between her hip and derriere. She loved when he held her that way. There was something so intimate about it. "Tell me again why we have to get up at six-thirty in the morning when we didn't get to bed until after midnight."

"Because the rest of 'Arry's family is arriving today."

Jacque snorted. "Good, they can take him back with them if he's going to kiss my little girl like he did last night."

She swatted him on the arm. "Now's not the time to start up the 'Protective Father' role," she admonished.

"Don't worry," he said, and smiled at his wife. "Hell, you haven't seen him duel. Every time I go to Durmstrang, Professor Sirko puts some memories of 'Arry's training in a Pensieve. After what I saw last week, there's no way I'd want to face an angry 'Arry."

She pushed herself up on her elbows, allowing the surprise she felt to show. "Really? I don't think I've ever heard of you backing down from a duel."

"It happens," he said. "It's called 'choosing your battles wisely,' at least maturity is good for something."

"Maturity?" she mocked. "Oh, no, no, Mr. Delacour, it's not maturity—you're just getting old, _sir_. I could even pluck a few more gray hairs to prove it!"

"Preening." He shook his head and chuckled, then kissed her before winding her up. "With all that gray hair, maybe I need a trophy wife to get me through my midlife crisis."

He dodged the pillow and tried to jump out of bed, but the sheet wrapped around his ankle and before he could undo it she took another swing, and he took the pillow in the center of his chest, then tumbled arse over elbow off the bed. A thud reported that the floor broke his fall.

She pulled herself to the edge of the mattress and looked down, her silver-blond hair framing her still youthful face, now lit up with mirth. "Still alive, _Mon Amour?_" She couldn't keep the humor out of her voice.

"Remind me to list 'bad aim' as a good trait when I start looking."

Apolline chuckled and reached down, running her hand along his back and neck. "You are okay, aren't you?"

"I think so," her husband answered, and rolled over to his knees and sat up, taking the opportunity to kiss her again. She followed him into the bathroom a few minutes later and decided to take a shower.

She relaxed, letting the hot water beat down on her back as she thought about what had happened the night before, or more specifically, what 'Arry had managed . . .

. . . Do you know what you've done, Mon Petit? she wondered. Do you know the uproar your little show last night is going to cause?

Both shows, she corrected herself with a big smile.

The way he handled Fleur was priceless. The memory was already in a Pensieve. Those who missed the scene for one reason or another thoroughly enjoyed the replay.

It was his other show however, that she was thinking about now, and its far-reaching ramifications. There was no way he could know the firestorm he had created, but Apolline did—knew it better than she knew her own magic—and she was going to make sure the resulting flames were spread far and wide. The right things said to the right people, the name "Harry Potter" dropped at the right time . . .

She adjusted the spray so the hot water could beat down on her neck, loosening the knots that formed every year from the stress of the Christmas party. Normally, this was the time she'd swear that it was the last one; a promise that usually lasted through New Year's Day, when she started planning again.

This morning however, she was too focused, thinking about how History, Fate, or even a god was guiding Harry's life. What were the odds that he'd fall in with a Veela who happened to be the Beauxbatons Champion, come to France with her, connect with a Professor from Durmstrang, and through him, become friends with none other than Azzurra Sala?

Apolline shook her head at the implications of the friendship. That little Veela was the daughter of one of the three most powerful Veela on the Zekānōt, and she was dating a Zashtitnik on top of that.

Then last night, Harry provided her own Flock Leader with enough ammunition to shock the entire Zekānōt into action, if Apolline could manipulate it in the right way.

She knew the game she was playing was dangerous at best. Her family name was close to anathema in some circles of her flock already, mainly because of the stand she, her mother, and her grandmother had taken within the Veela nation in general and the Zekānōt in particular while the last two Wizarding wars raged. Of course, the Zekānōt just sat on their pretty, little asses and whined about centuries past while real people, not historical numbers, real damn people were dying, and those _putains _did nothing but bemoan stories in a book!

Had they joined the last war, had they did what she asked, maybe 'Arry and that young wizard named Neville and hundreds like him would still have their families. What happened to the proud species that spawned the belief in guardian angels—the warrior women who would fight to protect those who deserved it no matter their species? Sure, they complain about wizards, but the truth of the matter was that the Veela had become just as prejudice as wizards.

Maybe that was why they were willing to sit around and allow children like Harry to go off to war while they preen and parade themselves.

"_Putains!"_ she repeated. It was time they saw the light, and she had plans to make sure they did just that.

It was exactly what she would do to protect her own children, and Harry deserved that, even if he wasn't biologically hers.

**~ . ~ . ~**

Half an hour later, she and her husband opened the front door and welcomed Sirius, Remus, Charlie, and a young woman with spiky pink hair into their home. The young woman put off an erratic, ungraceful air and Apolline couldn't help but wonder how she had survived the war this long.

Greetings and introductions were being exchanged when a cheer went up from the backside of the house.

"Do you have a Quidditch game going on out there?" Sirius asked.

"There's no way—check Gabrielle's room" Apolline said to her husband, and walked down the hall. Opening Fleur's door, she stepped in, and then came back out and shook her head.

Jacque had done the same thing in Gabrielle's room, and then came back with an inquisitive look.

They were surprised when the young woman stepped in front of the three wizards with her wand in hand. Her hair flashed from pink to back with dark red streaks and her eyes hardened considerably.

"Mr. Delacour, would you like to tell me what is going on?" Her question sounded like a command.

Jacque's eyebrows went up. "Auror?"

"Yes sir. Since we're supposed to meet Harry here, I would like to know.

"Now!"

Apolline reappraised the young woman; the erratic, flighty semblance was all but gone. In its place was a witch that could pluck-n-pack her before she'd even get her wand out.

"Tonks, is it?" Apolline asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please, call me Apolline. There's no problem here—at least not an Auror problem. In a few minutes however, when I find out what my daughters and nieces have done, it might be a different story.

She turned to her husband "Want to come upstairs with me and see what this is all about?"

"I probably should," he agreed, before addressing the others. "Feel free to make yourself at home, or if you'd like, you can come upstairs and see what happens when a crotchety old man has to deal with a bunch of teenage girls who think they're all grown up due to Veela law."

"This I have to see," Sirius said with a grin.

"Don't mind him," Remus cut in. "By now you have to know that he has absolutely no class."

Sirius shook his head. "I have class, I just never went to class; you still get the two confused." He turned the Jacque. "Remus was a Prefect; it's damaged him for life."

"A Prefect?" Jacque repeated, looking at Remus. "Come on then, maybe you can help; the Auror too."

They all climbed the stairs and walked into the massive, empty room that held the party the night before. The House-Elves had already cleaned it, preparing for Christmas morning.

Apolline led them to the balcony, where she saw her younger daughter sitting at a table with a stack of Galleons in front of her. Paige was sitting on one side of her and her best friend on the other, along with seven or eight of their cousins, three male cousins, and a smattering of other male counterparts in longer-term relationships with the Veela.

"What's going on out here?" Apolline demanded. "The sun's coming up and none of you have gone to bed yet?"

She caught a smile on the face of a niece two years younger than Fleur. "If you have a bed for us aunt Apolline, I'd _love _to take Devon—"

"No, Danielle, that's not an offer for you to bed your boyfriend in our house," she cut her niece off, chuckling at the coy smile and her boyfriend's embarrassment. Apolline turned her attention back to her daughter. "Gabby? Mind telling me what is going on?"

Gabrielle pointed out to the garden, where Fleur and Harry were currently gesticulating wildly in what looked like either a passionate conversation, or an intense fight.

"They've been out there all night?"

"Yep," Gabrielle answered.

"And you're all doing what?"

"Currently?" Gabrielle asked.

Apolline shot her the "You will tell me now"look.

She was just about to answer when another cheer went up and Galleons exchanged hands.

"You—Are—Betting—On—My—Daughter's—and—Harry's—Relationship?"

"Yep!" Gabrielle said, grinning at her. A Galleon each for a guess at the next bird sighting and the next kiss, plus side bets.

Sirius laughed and looked out at the Harry again. "I'll take eleven minutes on a bird-sighting, and am open for a side bet that it'll come before the next kiss."

Apolline glared at him.

"Hey, I know my godson, he's just like his father."

"You will do no such thing!" Apolline thundered at Sirius, then reached down and grabbed a handful of Galleons from her daughter and flipped them at Paige.

"_I will_ _take_ the earliest on the bird-sighting and as many side-bets as you all want that it'll come first," she said, throwing a look at Sirius and smirking. "Mother's prerogative, and I also know Harry, and my daughter."

The sun had fully risen and the early morning twilight was long gone. Harry tenderly drew his fingertips down the bridge of Fleur's nose, resting them on her lips. "That's everything I've thought and felt since the day you stepped onto the grounds of Hogwarts," he finished, speaking in French for the last hour.

Fleur took his hand in hers.

An almost electric shock ran up his arm. It happened every time she touched him. "Thank you. I'm still not happy that you kept the Horcrux stuff from me, but at least I now understand why you were pulling away from me last summer."

Harry sighed. "I still don't see any other way."

"That may be," she said, a sadness in her voice. "But we don't know when the time will come, and we don't know if it really is the only way to destroy the Horcrux. I think we should sit down with Remus and Sirius and talk with them. Papa may have some ideas as well—and yes, 'Arry, we will tell Papa. Even Professor Sirko if we have to. You didn't give up on me; _I will not _give up on you . . . you're too important to me," she finished quietly.

Her words were a balm to a wounded soul. Harry smiled and leaned in, kissing those tender lips again. He knew that he would never get tired of it—but that infernal cheering from the balcony was a different story.

"Ready to go hex a bunch of Veela?" Fleur asked, reading his mind.

"Absolutely."

"By the way, how did you get down from the Balcony last night? The Apparation wards are still up."

His smile grew larger. "Maybe someday I'll show you."

By her reactions, Harry knew that she still liked his playful side. He was glad, seeing as it had grown tremendously over the last few months, despite everything else that had happened. It was something else to both thank, and blame on his Veela-chicks.

He shifted her hand in his and lead her back up the path, but after a few steps, she yelped, reaching down to rub her foot.

"Stupid rock," she huffed.

The memory of her shoes exploding off her feet made him grin again. He waiting until she stood up, then without asking, swept her up into his arms and carried her into Fleur's bedroom through the patio doors—accompanied by a standing ovation. Harry put her down and stepped out to let her change.

She put on a long t-shirt, then met Harry in the hallway and they walked upstairs to make good on their threat.

Every cousin and friend was hit once or twice with a tickling hex.

Gabrielle was hit multiple times.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

An hour later, the Delacour family and the newcomers were in the large sitting room by the fireplace on the main floor.

"It's good to see you again, Harry," Sirius said from the chair across from him, "but we're going to be here a few days, so why don't you go get some sleep?"

Harry, sitting between the Veela sisters, mumbled his agreement. Gabrielle was already out like a light, so he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead, then planted a chaste kiss on Fleur's lips and headed downstairs to bed, a very happy young wizard.

He climbed into the middle of the bed with his back to the door, and adjusted the covers, then reached for his wand. But as he lifted it to ward the room (the habit was ingrained in him now), he felt the covers pull back and someone slipped in next to him. The familiar sensation of magic and love flooded his body as an arm draped over and pulled him close.

"Good night, my beloved flower," he whispered, and was kissed on the cheek.

He warded the room, put his wand down, and pulled the covers up under his chin; but just before he drifted off to sleep, a leg drape over him as well, followed by a contented sigh.

* * *

><p><strong>Translations<strong>

*Perie le Snik is actually "perelesnyk," another supernatural being of folklore from the same area as Wila, and are akin to nymphs or spirits. They are, however, considered "spirits of seduction," which is why the word has transliterated into the French Veela language as an exclamation for someone who takes a Veela's breath away.

**"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.


	16. Gifts

.

**Chapter Sixteen  
><strong>

**Gifts**

The early afternoon sun shined through the basement window. Harry pulled the covers over his head, relaxed into the pillow, and enjoyed the feeling of the soft, feminine arm under his head.

"'Arry," Fleur intoned. "I think it's time to wake up." The melody of her voice drew a smile, but five and a half hours of sleep wasn't enough and he settled in to fall back asleep, until a soft hand moved against his chest, tracing fingernails against smooth skin. "'Arry, you awake yet?"

"No." He felt her breath, hot on his cheek before soft lips pressed against his own.

"_Bonjour, mon amour_."

A strange sensation grew in the center of his chest. It felt warm, and his body gasped for it, like a first breath of air after being underwater for far too long.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and found Fleur radiant, though there was a hint of uncertainty in the way she was looking at him. "Tired," he answered, then smiled. "But besides that, I'm good."

"You don't have any regrets over last night?"

"No," He answered, and then in a voice quieter and less assured he asked, "Why, are you?"

She slid a bare leg over his and caressed his chest. "My only regret is that I wore too many clothes to bed."

He turned bright red. Fleur giggled and snuggled down next to him. "I'm just glad my innocent 'Arry is back, even if 'e's gotten a little more devious."

"Devious?"

"Yes, devious. Like kissing a 'eartbroken Veela and then disappearing through the back door."

He drew a finger across her cheekbone and down to her jaw line. They both looked too prominent in the bright sunlight. "I'm sorry you were heartbroken, I'm sorry—"

She put a finger on his lips. "Shh, we've discussed it already." She reached back for something on the nightstand, and then bounced a finger off the end of his nose, leaving a splotch of icing. "I would rather we move on and enjoy what we have now." She leaned over him and licked the icing off with the tip of her tongue. "Wouldn't you?"

A slight gurgle escaped his throat.

"Good, you agree," she said, then kissed him on the cheek before getting out of bed. "We should probably go upstairs and say 'hi' to everyone."

But he couldn't answer on account of his mind going blank at her tongue-trick. Ripples of warmth, not to mention something a little less innocent, surged through his body. He closed his eyes and berated himself for pushing this off for the last six months.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked. Uncertainty tinged her voice again.

"No," he finally managed. "I'm just thinking about how much I would have enjoyed this last summer."

"Me too, but it does us no good thinking about it now." She raised an eyebrow. "Or is that your way of asking me to lick more icing off you?"

"Yeah, um, we should probably head upstairs."

"My innocent 'Arry," she cooed again, and sat back down on the bed. "_Mon amour innocent."_

Harry let the feeling wash over him again. "You have no idea how it feels to hear you call me your love."

Her eyes shimmered. "Then I will call you that every day."

The moment passed and she handed him the source of the icing. "Froissé brought each of us a pastry."

He took it, and chuckled at the swipe missing from the white, creamy—

A finger pressed into the icing a second time and Fleur smeared it against his cheek. "It looks good on you!" She jumped off the bed and pranced into the hallway, shutting the door. He could still hear her laughing as she walked up the stairs.

Half an hour later, Harry was relaxing in the sitting room with Sirius, Remus, and Mr. Delacour. The latter was struggling through the obligatory father-boyfriend talk. "I trust you. I can't say I like Fleur sleeping downstairs last night, but she's an adult." He shook his head. "I never thought I'd be giving this talk to someone I considered part of the family. Just do me one favor, please?" he asked after a pause.

Harry caught sight of his godfather, sitting behind Mr. Delacour and drawing a finger across his neck and Remus, who was sitting next to Sirius and mouthing the word "run" repeatedly.

"Please take good care of her."

Harry swallowed. "I will, I promise."

"I know," Mr. Delacour said. "But I had to ask."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"And is that how you now interpret Dark Arts?" Sirius said an hour later.

Harry nodded, enjoying the smell of the salt water in the cool air. He gazed out from his seat at the bottom edge of the Delacour property, a hundred feet beyond the stone wall and almost level with the rooftops of the seaside town below. "It makes a lot of sense. It's why I could cast a _Cruciatus _or Killing Curse and not be affected by it, but why Death Eaters do the same thing, and become addicted to the Dark Arts."

"You're going to have to explain that one to me."

"When they do it, it's because they're choosing the Lesser Good over the Greater Good. The more they do it, the more they default to the Lesser Good until Dark Magic overtakes them."

Sirius scratched at an old scar under his left ear and grimaced. "But if Dark Magic and the Lesser Good are the same, then how can one lead to the other?"

Harry shrugged. "I have no idea. Professor Sirko tried to explain it a few times, but even he says it's confusing."

Sirius leaned back and looked up at the sky. "I don't like it."

Harry had already surmised that the conversation was uncomfortable for him, but knowing the history of the Black family, it made sense that Sirius would rather just have a list of Dark spells from which to stay away. That wasn't quite fair, though, he thought. Sirius didn't think in terms of lists, but rather, lists plus intent maybe? Something like that.

"It leaves everything too circumstantial and gives too many excuses for using Dark Arts 'for the Greater Good.'" Sirius concluded. "The whole thing reminds me too much of Grindelwald."

"But, wasn't it a greater good when you used dark spells on me the last time we dueled?" he asked.

"No," Sirius snapped. "It was a foolish and emotional response to my godson and the son of my best friend using Dark Arts. It scared me." He took a breath and calmed down. "It made me feel like I was failing you and by extension, James."

Harry blinked, and then blinked again. He never thought about it like that, and he didn't like the fact that Sirius was thinking he'd failed, either. "Do you still feel that way?"

"I don't know," Sirius confessed. Then he pointed to a hillside on the east side of the town. "I think I just might do a little house-shopping right down there after the war. Maybe there's a local lady that wouldn't mind an old dog."

Sirius grinned, but it disappeared before he continued. "Honestly, I think you're flirting too much with the Dark Arts. I understand where you're coming from. I'll even admit that your way of looking at it makes sense, to a certain extent. But, what you're headed for, the battles you're going to fight, you better make absolutely sure of the line between the Light and Dark."

Harry took a deep breath and prepared for the next part of the conversation. He figured it wasn't going to be pleasant. "But, what if there's no such thing?"

"What!" Sirius sat up straight. "That bastard Voldemort, sure as dragonshite, is dark, and your mother and father were not. Period!"

Harry shot up off the cement bench. "I know that! How stupid do you think I am?" He held up a hand to forestall Sirius's answer. "Look, just think about it for a second. If Light is defined by not being Dark, and Dark is defined by not being Light, then aren't they really two sides of the same coin? And that means that they're the same thing, just used differently. I'd rather believe that the Higher Good isn't dependent on the Lesser Good to exist."

"But . . ." Sirius stopped and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "This is giving me a bleedin' headache. Just promise me that whatever way you choose to view magic, you'll be careful."

"Of course," Harry said. "I mean, Fleur's a Veela. Veela and Dark Arts don't mix, remember?"

"Yeah, I do. But don't do it for her," Sirius warned. "You need to do it for you."

Yeah, right. If he was by himself, he'd be shoving the Dark Arts right back up the collective arse of the Death Eaters. But could he do that now? Could he turn _that _dark and still keep Fleur? But if he didn't dive into the Dark Arts, what were his chances against Voldemort? Maybe with enough training . . . but how long would that take? He was getting more than he could handle at Durmstrang already. It would've been much easier had—

"Wait a second, If Dumbledore knew the prophecy, if he knew that I'd have to fight Voldemort—"

"Why didn't he train you differently?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah, I mean, everything I'm learning at Durmstrang, if I knew half of this stuff last spring, maybe Cedric or Viktor would have lived."

"I doubt it," Sirius answered. "Jacque showed me the memory reconstruction of those battles. There's no way you could have saved them, not without you or Fleur—or most likely the both of you—losing your lives."

"But it's still a good question, isn't it?"

Sirius picked up a rock and turned it over in his hands. "There's two ways of understanding knowledge," he began. "Some believe that you teach knowledge. That you take a person step-by-step through the process of introducing new information. Others believe that knowledge is inherent."

"But what does that have to do with Dumbledore training me?" Harry asked.

"He believed that knowledge of magic is already within us and the role of a teacher is to illuminate the pathway to that knowledge, but it's up to the student to discover it for him or herself."

"That makes no sense," Harry protested. "And it also doesn't explain why Dumbledore didn't help."

"He did. You needed to learn how to use your courage, how to face enemies, how to think on your feet, how to fight to stay alive, and even how to face death. That's why you were the one to save the Philosopher's stone."

Harry gaped at Sirius. "How did you know about that?"

"I spoke with Dumbledore last year. Your life wasn't in danger. Remember, Voldemort couldn't touch you or come after you due to your mother's protections."

"But Professor Quirrell—"

"Was possessed by Voldemort. Remember what happened to him?" Sirius tossed the rock out into the field and put his hands in his pockets. "Dumbledore was torn up pretty bad over his death and blamed himself for it. But in truth, Quirinus already gave up his soul when he voluntarily let Voldemort share his body. That meant that he couldn't hurt you."

"Quirinus?" Harry asked.

"He was a Ravenclaw, three years under us. Smart, but very secretive. Anyway, Dumbledore knew the limits of the injuries you'd receive. They were no worse than if you were training to become an Auror, which is essentially what you would have been doing had he trained you the way you wanted him to."

Harry took a few seconds to digest that. "But what about the second year?"

"Not even Dumbledore knew all the secrets of Hogwarts. He was as caught by surprise as you were. But he did know that you were figuring it out, and kept an eye on you.

"So why didn't he help?"

"My guess is that he thought you were discovering your knowledge. He would have been afraid that if he interfered, he'd do more damage than good. So he watched from the side, and only got involved when necessary, like sending the Phoenix with the Sorting Hat."

"But . . . but . . ." Harry sputtered. It made sense. It also made him . . . what? Expendable? "It's a lot of risks to take with someone else's life."

"Is it?" Sirius asked. "He knew you wouldn't be harmed the first year, and sent you what you needed the second year. He trained you the best way he knew how and it was good enough to keep you alive when Voldemort returned."

"But that doesn't excuse what happened to Ginny!" Harry snapped.

"Don't blame him for that!" Sirius's eyes narrowed and his features hardened. "If he knew Ginny was being possessed, he would've done something immediately. I suggest you remember that he died because he cared more about getting first and second years to safety than defending himself. I may have disagreed with him several times, but I _never _doubted him, and neither should you."

Harry didn't answer, instead thinking back over those first two years. Ron and chess, Hermione and logic games, Harry and the keys, they were all intended to help him discover exactly what about himself? That he could trust, and that he had to trust others to defeat Voldemort?

"Surprised to find that Dumbledore was training you?" Sirius asked.

"Yeah," he answered, and then gestured over Sirius's shoulder. "Looks like they found us."

Charlie, Tonks, and Fleur were standing inside the fence, staring out at them. Harry waved them over. "Where's Remus?" He asked once they were close enough.

"Up with Jacque, giving him a briefing on England," Charlie answered. "I suppose you want the same, if Sirius hasn't done it already."

"He hasn't," Harry confirmed.

Charlie glanced at Sirius, but Sirius nodded for him to continue. "Well, at the moment, Voldemort is in control of pretty much everything: the Ministry, the Wizengamot, even St. Mungo's."

"Hogwarts?"

"Not that," Charlie said. "The house-elves took the wands of the fallen wizards after that first battle. A Death Eater isn't safe within a thousand feet of Hogwarts. It's been what, eight months? and their even more brassed off now."

"What about the Order?" Fleur asked.

Charlie waved his wand and three chase lounge chairs appeared. He and Tonks sat down, and Sirius moved over to the other one, leaving the bench for Harry and Fleur. "It's more of a war council now, with various factions meeting and sharing information."

"Could you explain this, 'war council'?" Fleur asked. "It 'as a very distinct meaning in Veela 'eritage and I want to make sure I am understanding correctly."

"Remember your group of friends at the Burrow?" Sirius asked, interrupting Charlie.

Harry and Fleur both nodded.

"They're their own faction now, working independently of anyone else. Neville is their leader and attends our meetings, sharing information that they've found. Professor McGonagall and a few others are doing the same thing among the older society. The Aurors, or what's left of them, the old Order members, and others all make up different factions now."

"So the Order split apart?" Harry asked.

"Not really," Tonks answered. "At least, not like that. After talking about what happened to your parents, we figured that we'd be better off working in smaller groups, and only sharing the most general information and plans with everyone. This way, if one faction is infiltrated, it doesn't compromise the rest of the resistance."

Infiltrated . . . compromise . . . resistance—Harry knew that magical Britain was at war, but these three words hit home in a way nothing else had, not even the battles at Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. These words were used in long-term war efforts, not short-term battles from which people retreated to lick their wounds, or even flee to another country—like he did. And that meant he had to get back to England sooner rather than later.

"Will you expect me to be a part of one of those factions when I return?"

"I wouldn't think so," Fleur said, surprising him. "We'd probably end up as our own, right?"

"We? You're _are not _going—" he bit down on his lip. "I'm not ready to talk about that."

Fleur's complexion lightened and she let go of his hand, but she didn't pull away. He realized she was giving him a choice and took her hand again, squeezing gently. She gave him a sad smile and laid her head on his shoulder. "So, will there be a 'Arry faction?" she asked. Her voice cracked at the end.

"Only if he wants to be a part of the Order," Charlie answered. "He has his own work to do, but he's welcome, and we do have a lot of information he'll need."

"And pretty much every faction represented there will work with him," Tonks added. "Especially after being proved wrong by Neville."

Harry lifted both eyebrows. "Neville?"

"Yep," Charlie answered. "Matter of fact, he's been so effective that there's a five-thousand Galleon reward if someone can bring his body to Voldemort."

"Good luck killing Chaos," Tonks joked.

"Why do you call him 'Chaos'?" Harry asked.

"That's his nickname now, that, or Tiamat, which means the same thing. Most if not all the ancient cultures: Sumer, Akkad, Babylon, all feared chaos, and thought of it as a monster, or a god to be destroyed," Charlie answered.

"How does a dragon–handler know that?" Harry lifted up his free hand, palm out. "No offense, but I thought you'd spend your time studying . . . dragon things."

"I've been studying dragon things," Tonks interrupted in a sing-song voice.

All eyes turned to her.

"What? It's true." she said as a glint appeared in her eyes. "Ask Charlie."

"Moving on," Charlie said, "a dragon can cause complete chaos either from the air, or on the ground, and can destroy whole villages in seconds. A lot of magical historians now believe dragons are the "Tiamat" or "Chaos Monster" of old."

"But what does that have to do with Neville?" Harry asked.

"He's doing the work of ten dragons," Charlie answered. "Disrupting death Eater meetings; attacks on the Ministry; battles on the fly in Diagon Alley, Godric's Hollow, Hogsmeade; he's becoming a right disruptive force."

Harry leaned back and thought about that for second. "Good for him. I'm really starting to hate the fact that I'm here and he's there, but—"

"That's not you're concern," Sirius interrupted. "You have a very specific task ahead of you. Neville's job seems to be disrupting their everyday plans. Yours is to kill their bastard leader outright. Remember that."

Harry nodded, but he still didn't like it, nor was he hiding that fact, he realized, when Fleur pulled him in closer to her.

They talked for a couple more hours before the adults walked back up to the house. Harry and Fleur stayed, hoping to steal some time alone—the first since lying in bed together that morning.

"I heard Papa tried to 'ave the father/boyfriend talk with you," Fleur said once they were out of earshot.

He scratched the back of his head and smiled. "Yeah, it wasn't that bad, but I think it would have been easier on him if he didn't know me."

The corner of Fleur's lip pulled up. "Papa doesn't like the fact that his little girls are now adults. It's been hard on 'im. Especially Gabrielle, I think. She seems to 'ave matured as fast as I did, if not faster."

"It probably was, she's a right a pain in the arse." Harry stood up and stretched. "But I wouldn't change it if I could."

"_Merde!_" Fleur shook her head as she stared at him.

"What?"

"My little sister has you wrapped around her finger, doesn't she?"

He laughed. "Honest? Yeah, probably, short of hurting you, I don't think there's anything I wouldn't do for her."

Fleur took his hand in hers again and led him on a meandering path through the property. "It's okay. I think it's going to take all our efforts to keep her out of trouble. Maybe we'll even 'ave to enlist the 'elp of your Veela-chicks, no?"

Harry stopped.

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah, how do I act around them now? I don't want to hurt you or—" A finger pressed against his lips.

"Thank you, 'Arry, but I wouldn't worry about that. We are in a relationship now and the—" She stopped and blushed. "I think there's something I forgot to tell you last night. It's not bad, but I need to explain."

What else could there be? Harry asked himself. Then he realized that he knew exactly what she was about to confess and maybe, just maybe, he could even have a little fun with it. He schooled his look into one of concern and tried to act worried. "What, what is it?"

Fleur kicked at the dirt. "Um, Veela have a way of communicating with other Veela . . ."

"And?" He prompted.

"We, ah, we can . . . tell them—when we're interested in someone."

"Interested?" Harry interrupted, his eyes going wide. "You mean you're just 'interested' in me?"

"No, that's not what I meant."

"So, you're not interested in me?" He asked, letting go of her hand and crossing his arms. He fought back a grin.

"I didn't say that!" she shot back. "I'm trying to explain what I did!"

He raised an eyebrow. "You did something to me?"

"I—yeah. And that's what I'm trying to tell you if you just shut—"

"Was it when we were sleeping last night? You should have woke me up; I probably would've enjoyed it a lot more."

The shock clear in her wide eyes was almost too much and he decided to show her a little mercy. "It's okay, I think I know what you're trying to tell me, but you're not really doing a very good job of it."

She pushed him away. "Of all the wizards in the world, I 'ave to fall for an Englishman." She threw her hands up in the air. "Do the Veela gods hate me?"

"Hey," Harry said. "It's not the fault of the Veela gods that you marked a 'leetle Eenglish boy'."

Fleur froze in place, except for her jaw, which dropped almost to her chest, and Harry began to contemplate the wisdom in teasing a mature Veela.

"You . . . you know about marking?" she asked. "How?"

"Azzurra. When I was laid up in the hospital wing, she came in one day, leaned in, and sniffed. It was all she needed."

Fleur tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. Harry recognized that look, and wondered if it was innate for all Veela. He knew what it meant, and braced himself.

"Don't lie to me," she said. "There's only one way to verify the mark."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Harry was sure that the look in Fleur's eyes turned mischievous and maybe even a little predatory. She took a step forward. "I haven't forgotten how you took advantage of my little sister, making her verify the mark on you."

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it, realizing that he had just lost complete control of the conversation, and stepped back.

"So, which one of your Veela-chicks kissed you?" she asked.

"Um, what?" Harry answered, sporting his own blush now and backing up another couple of steps.

"You heard me." She matched his steps, looking even more like a predator. "It's the only way to verify the mark, and I've met your Veela-Chicks 'Arry. They're very beautiful." Fleur's voice was somewhere between a growl and a purr as she took another step towards him. "So, was it Azzurra? All that power, a natural Veela and Italian on top of it—or wait! Was she on top of you?"

"No!"

"Was it Jaleena? She has such beautiful eyes, wide and inviting, were her lips just as inviting?"

Harry rapidly shook his head back and forth to protest his innocence and took another step backwards, smack into the trunk of a tree.

"It must have been Médée, then," she continued, moving forward like a huntress on her prey. "Those pouty lips and messy hair, it almost makes me wish I cast my spells on the home team."

Harry's eyes went wide and Fleur moved even closer. "So, it was Médée. Maybe we could ask her to join us some time. Would you like that, 'Arry?"

He was gobsmacked as Fleur pushed her body against his, then leaned in, her lips right up against his ear. "Never tease a Veela, leetle Eenglishman, we always win." She kissed him on the cheek and stepped back, a little grin pulling at her lips.

"Are all Veela evil, or just the Delacours?" he asked a few minutes later when he could think straight.

"All Veela, but the Delacour's are a special kind." She flashed that wicked grin again. "But I think you like me like that."

She led them off again, hand-in-hand up the hill through the gardens. "_Maman _told me the mark was growing stronger, though I figured it was since my feelings were growing deeper as well. And since it's normal for a Veela to verify the mark while it's still in that stage," she shrugged. "But you don't have to worry about that now. Veela will treat you differently now that we're together."

"How's that?" he asked.

"The mark. They can tell that we're together now so most of them will be less flirty, but more open." They walked a few more steps before she continued. "I want you to be honest with me about something, though."

"Only if I won't lose my life."

She gave him a playful swat on the arm. "I'm serious, and I do want your honest answer."

"Okay," he said, though it didn't come out nearly as strong as he wished it did.

"Are you mad at me for marking you?"

He stopped walking and waited until she stopped and turned around to face him. "No. It's what convinced me that you still cared for me, though I wish you would have told me, instead of the way I found it."

"How did you, by the way?" she asked.

"The whole story?"

Her eyes lit up. "Of course. Knowing you, it was probably dramatic and maybe even life-threatening."

He rolled his eyes and then proceeded to tell her everything: how he challenged Azzurra, how she shrunk her uniform and Harry's comments about it to Professor Sirko, and even the trip to Milan. Fleur laughed and guffawed throughout the story, though he thought she didn't find the part about clothes shopping and Médée's hands as funny as he did. ". . . And that's how I found out. It's probably why I did what I did when I walked into the party. Well that and . . ."

"And what" she prompted.

"Do you remember the Phoenix song, when I was fighting Voldemort last spring?"

"We didn't hear it then. But I did when I viewed the memories later."

"Wait, why did you go back and watch the battle?"

She looked away and Harry almost missed it when she began to explain. "I missed you so much and I didn't know when I'd see you again, so I started using one of the Pensieves at work."

"You won't have to worry about that anymore," Harry promised.

"What about England?" she asked, and then turned back to him, her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, forget that I said that."

"No, I guess it's something we need to talk about."

They walked up to the house and through the sliding glass doors into her bedroom. Harry waited until she sat down on the bed. He could feel his heart beating a little faster, but tried to ignore it. "I . . . I don't want you to go back to England," he began, "only to see again what we saw and fight again for your life; the prophecy is about me and because of the Horcrux, we both know where it will end—"

"Don't say that!" she interrupted. "We haven't even had a chance to talk with Papa or Professor Sirko yet."

"I know, but how long can I sit and wait for an answer while Neville and the rest of them are out there fighting? How can I trade their lives for mine?"

Her expression changed to a blank, almost haughty look, and he was reminded of the Fleur Delacour that first stepped out of the Carriage all those months ago at Hogwarts. She set her jaw firm and looked him dead in the eye. "You're right," she said. "You should go back. But who am I to sit here and not do anything? I think I should help you meet _our_ destiny in England, No?"

Helping . . . our destiny . . . wait! Damn, damn, damn! This was _not _how this conversation was supposed to go. Harry clamped down on his emotions—and his tongue so he wouldn't say anything stupid—and spoke calmly, but straight from the heart. "You're the reason I've made it this far. You know that everyone else I cared about back there are dead, except Neville and the others upstairs."

"And that's another reason I should go back with you."

He closed his eyes. "No, Fleur. I still dream about it, about carrying their bodies: Hermione, Ron, Ginny; I wake up at night and swear I can feel their blood on my hands and chest. They even talk to me sometimes." He opened his eyes again. "They tell me never to let you come back to England, or the next body I'll be carrying with me is yours. I can't do that, Fleur. I can't lose you. You're the only thing that's keeping me . . ."

"What? Keeping you what?" she pressed gently.

"Sane," he lied, but it was close enough.

Fleur's facade cracked and her voice began to shake. "But how can I let you go off to die? What if I can get you to the Healers in time after you're hit with a curse and you— It happens enough in the _Vulgaire_ world! That would destroy the Horcrux and you'd be free, right?"

"I don't know, but the chances—"

"I don't care about chances! I can't just let you walk off into a Killing Curse!"

"I know," he said after a few seconds of silence. "I know." He pulled her closer and she wrapped her arms around him as they fell back on the bed.

They lay there for a little while before Fleur said, "It was Veela that the _Vulgaire _confused with Guardian Angels. We have a fierce protectiveness for those we're close to, and it's not easy to overcome."

"I learned that this fall, but can you understand that it's the same way I feel about you?"

Fleur buried her face in his chest. "I don't want to," she admitted, "So what are we going to do? It's going to take you tying me up to the bedpost to get me to stay here when you go back to Britain. I can't just sit around while you march off to your death – and since you feel the exact opposite . . ." she let the sentence hang.

"I don't know," he confessed, and held her even tighter.

They lay in silence with her head on his chest and his arms around her as the shadows grew longer. He had just about fallen asleep when she popped back up. "Wait a second!"

He opened one eye.

"When you go back, it won't be straight to a battle. I mean, you'll meet with the Order first, find out what's been going on and what you need to do, yes?"

Harry thought about that for a second. "I guess, why?"

"Well," Fleur continued, "what if, for now, we agree that I go with you to the meetings? We'll come back here after them, since it's safer for you until you're ready to do whatever you need to do. Then once we have an idea of what that is, we can discuss whether I'm going back with you for good. This way, we don't fight over it, and at least we'll know more before we have to make any decisions."

And that way, Harry thought to himself, you get to win the Order to your side, make it so that I can't stand being out of your presence, and then win the argument by default. But there really weren't any other options, so he closed his eyes and hoped that she'd see how much this was about to hurt him. "Fine, but that doesn't mean I like it."

Fleur traced a finger down the center of his nose, stopping on his lips. "I think I like this."

"What? Winning?"

She flicked him on his nose. "No, telling me what you're thinking, and then us talking about it."

Harry ran his hand across his forehead. "Um, in that case . . . can I ask you something?"

"_Oui_?" she encouraged him.

"Well, you suggested something that sounds like fun. I wanted to see if we could try it."

Fleur propped herself up on his chest. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, you did mention something about me tying you up to the bedpost. It sounded like fun." He raised both hands in the air to celebrate his victory as she pulled one of the covers up to bury her face in it. He leaned in. "Never underestimate a leetle Eenglish wizard, not even if you're an evil Veela."

He heard her say something that sounded an awful lot like, "Bloody prat," and the English phrase made him laugh all the harder.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"So, do you know who I am?" Harry asked, standing in the middle of the larger sitting room later that evening. He was only a foot away from the wizard facing him. Not once, ever, had Harry traded on his name before. He wouldn't have dared do it at Hogwarts. But since his fame had rocketed in magical France; thanks to the papers that were reporting what happened last spring and no doubt, due to what this wizard he was facing represented; he figured this would be a perfect time to start.

The young man looked him up and down and up again, and then fixated on the scar on his forehead. "YOU'RE—"

"There's no reason to shout!" He cut the wizard off, and crossed his arms, his wand clearly visible. "But since you know who I am, I take it that you also know what I'm capable of?"

The wizard's head bounced up and down.

"Good. Now, look to you're right, do you see that wizard there?"

The young man's eyes got even wider.

"Do you recognize him?"

"Th – that's Sirius Black!"

"It is," Harry confirmed. "Do you know what he was arrested for?"

"Mass Murder!"

"That's right," he said. "And he's the only person to have ever escaped from Azkaban. Do you see the wizard sitting next to him, the one with muscles on top of muscles and scars covering half of his body?"

The poor kid nodded once more.

"He's a dragon-handler. I've personally seen him wrestle whole Dragons into their pens, and you're about the size of a dragon's front paw. Next to him is his girlfriend. I should remind you that she's a trained Auror, not to mention a few other talents she has."

Tonks raised an eyebrow and Fleur choke back a laugh from her side of the couch.

"I haven't even gotten to my Professor for Defense against the Dark Arts, my very powerful Veela girlfriend, her half-Veela mother, and the war-hero father all sitting in this room. So it goes without saying, you're going to treat Gabrielle with absolute respect tonight, am I right?"

The boy nodded very enthusiastically.

"And your hands will remain completely off her body?"

"Completely!"

"And if you don't have her home by the time her father says, you know that everyone I've just pointed out is going with me on a hunting expedition . . . and you're the game, right?"

Another nod confirmed that he understood the terms.

"Good. Want to sit on the couch and wait for Gabrielle?"

"No thank you, I think I'll wait outside." The young wizard all but ran out of the room and downstairs, where they heard him quickly pulling on his cloak and slamming the front door behind him.

"Congratulations," Sirius said over the laughter. "I think he just bricked his trousers."

"I want to know what 'talents' Harry thinks I have?" Tonks said.

"Oh, belt up, Nymphadora," he answered, and danced out of the way of a stinging hex. He caught movement from the corner of his eyes just before he heard her voice.

"What's going on in here . . . and where's my date?" Gabrielle asked.

Harry's his heart jumped into his throat. A white blouse just shy of tight and covering just enough to be appropriate was set off by a pair of Muggle jeans that emphasized all the right – er, wrong parts of her legs and derriere. Her hair was slightly curled and pulled back off her neck with a clip, but still fell down her back. In a word, she was stunning, and if that ponce outside even thought about touching her—

"My date?" she asked again.

"He's outside," Mrs. Delacour said. "I'll walk you to the door."

Harry turned to her father as they left the room. "You're seriously going to let her out of the house?"

"Taking the 'protective big brother' thing a little serious, are we?" Remus asked.

"Did you see her? And trust me, you don't know her! The way that wicked little Veela works, you'd better hope France isn't at war by night's end."

Mr. Delacour chuckled. "Unfortunately, she's an adult now. The only reason she even agreed to a curfew was to placate me. So yeah, I have to let her out looking like that. And in twenty years or so, you may know exactly how it feels."

The blood drained out of Harry's face.

"Come here," Fleur said. She was giggling as she held out her hand to him.

He walked over and she pulled him down on the couch, then slipped her legs up over his. "I know better than anyone how that 'wicked little Veela' works, but it'll be okay for one night." She smiled at him. "By the way, your protective streak is quite adorable."

"Adorable?" Paige said, walking out of the kitchen. She had stopped by to welcome Harry back, since she didn't have much of a chance to do so the previous night. "I'm not sure 'adorable' was the word you used after he saved Gabrielle."

"I didn't save her!" Harry protested.

"Doesn't matter," Paige said. She crossed the hall into the open sitting room, and sat in a chair with her fresh cup of coffee. "'Hot,' 'young,' and 'sexy as hell' is what I remember from one morning at breakfast. 'Delicious' may have been another one, I think."

"That's enough," Fleur warned.

"No, please, go on." Harry said. "I'd love to hear more of what she thought of me."

"When your name first came out of the Goblet . . ." They talked and laughed over the next few hours, until the door opened at ten that evening, a full hour before they expected Gabrielle.

"Everything go okay?" Her mother asked.

"NO!" Gabrielle yelled, turning the corner and glaring at her mother. "How could it have?"

"He didn't—" her father started, but was cut off immediately.

"Of course not! It seems that SOMEONE decided to have a little talk with him! He wouldn't even sit next to me at dinner or hold my hand!"

Harry blinked and then let out a breath. "Thank you, Merlin!"

Gabrielle slowly turned towards him. "Thank. You. Merlin? He wouldn't even give me a goodnight kiss—on the cheek! And YOU are to blame. You better cast every charm and ward you can think of to keep yourself safe when you fall asleep tonight, Harry Potter!" She stormed off to the bedroom and slammed the door.

Harry continued to stare at the space, but behind him, he heard her father say, "Thank you."

He turned to Mr. Delacour, who genuinely seemed relieved. "For what?"

"For keeping her safe tonight, and for letting me get a good night's sleep. I stayed awake all night in fear the first time Fleur came home from a date like that."

"It's a good thing too," Mrs. Delacour reminded him. "She was waiting in the hallway for you to fall asleep."

Harry's eyes went wide and he looked at Fleur. "Don't you even think about it," she answered his unspoken question. "I'm sleeping in my bed tonight and you're sleeping downstairs—if you trust your wards enough to fall asleep, that is. I'm not sure I would."

"Thanks a lot," he said, and yawned. "Might as well go to bed now and get it over."

Harry was sitting on his bed and reading that stupid poem again, trying to figure out what it meant when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. "You should've at least waited until I've had a chance to fall asleep."

"It's not Gabrielle," a female voice answered.

"Hold on a second," he said in surprise. Harry looked around the Floor and found a pair sweats, and shirt to pull on. "Okay, come in."

The door opened and Mrs. Delacour walked into the room. She looked around at his room before sitting on the bed next to him. "Been an exciting twenty-four hours, hasn't it?" she asked, a mischievous grin danced on her features.

Harry wondered just how innate a Veela's expressions really were. "I guess so. I should probably apologize to Gabby tomorrow and take what I've got coming."

"I wouldn't," she said. "At least don't apologize for protecting her. Do you know how worried normal parents are when their daughter goes out on their first date, let alone the parents of a Veela?"

"No, but I'm thinking that I'm starting to find out."

She laughed. "I came down here to say thank you. But I am also curious why you're so protective of her."

"I don't know," he confessed. "She can probably handle herself in most situations just fine. I guess I still want to see the little Gabrielle that I pulled up from the lake. The same one that wouldn't let go of me the rest of that day."

Mrs. Delacour brushed away the strands of hair that had fallen in his face. It was a very intimate, maternal moment that Harry again soaked up. "And you want to protect her like you did that day, save her from the evils of the world? Maybe like some of the ones you've seen?"

Harry's throat grew dry at the turn of the conversation. "Is that so bad?" he managed to choke out.

She watched him for a second, and then continued as if she didn't hear his question. "And if I'm guessing right, you want to protect Fleur from those evils too, yes? They're the reasons you don't want her going with you back to England?"

She raised a hand to stop his protest. "That's not how Fleur said it. In truth, she was very complimentary about the way you handled the discussion with her today, but could you answer my question?"

He nodded. "There's no reason my world should taint theirs."

Mrs. Delacour placed a hand on his cheek. "It's our world too, 'Arry. You'll never know how much I appreciate the fact that you're trying to keep them safe, Jacque too, for that matter." She stood up and walked to the door. "But, please remember something."

"What's that?" he asked.

"Fleur and Gabrielle aren't your 'Ermione, or any of the other Weasleys. You can't bring them back by protecting my girls."

"I know that!"

"Good. Then you also know that you can't protect them from all the evil in this world. They're going to meet it on their own terms, with or without you. And when they do, it's not going to be your fault. They're both adults by Veela law, and they are responsible for their own decisions.

"One last thing, though it goes without saying."

Harry pulled on his ponytail, not wanting to think about either Veela he cared about getting hurt, and not sure he wanted to hear anything else at the moment. But there was no way he would be rude to the woman who opened her house, and her arms to him. "Yes?"

She walked back towards him and knelt, now eye level with him. "They both love you more than anyone else except their parents, and for Fleur, that exception may not last much longer. Jacque and I love you as well." Her eyes welled up with tears. "Thank you for being a part of our family, Harry." She kissed him on the forehead and stepped out of the room.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The next morning, Harry woke up before the sun had risen. He decided to keep his training up and ran around the property a few times, hoping it was equal distance to a lap around the lakes, then started in on his other exercises.

Two hours later, showered and dressed, Harry walked into Fleur's room with a tray of food and a cup of tea. "Froissé said you've developed a taste for English tea?"

"She's right," Fleur answered, and sat up in bed. She threw the covers open so he could climb in.

"Not this morning, I need to clear the air with Gabrielle."

Fleur motioned him closer and kissed him. "Good luck with that, hope to see you again someday."

"Yeah, me too," he said, and she took the opportunity to kiss him again. Then Harry remembered the other reason he was here, dipped his finger into the small helping of strawberry jelly, and splotched Fleur's nose with it.

"See you later." He almost got to the door.

"'Arry?" she purred.

The way she said his name sent shivers down his body and he couldn't help but turn back to her. "Yes?"

She wiped the jelly off with a finger and then held it out in front of her. With one long, slow lick, she cleaned her finger. "Oh, nothing," she said, and took a bite of the toast.

He turned and walked out of the door. "Evil Veela! Evil, evil, evil."

"Don't forget wicked," she called after him.

There was no doubt about that, he thought to himself, as he knocked on Gabrielle's door. When she didn't answer, he pushed it open to find her sound asleep in a short shirt and knickers. She had kicked off the covers in the middle of the night, so he pulled them back up before sitting next to her on the bed. "Gabrielle?"

She made a couple of cute sounds and went right back to sleep. He laid a hand on her arm. "Gabrielle, time to wake up."

"Five more minutes," she said, and rolled away from him.

"Can't, your _maman_ wants you up."

Gabrielle pulled the covers over her head and he fought to keep from laughing. "Come on, Gabby."

"Go away, unless you want me to curse the magic out of you – and I still owe you."

"Yeah, about that," he said. "I didn't mean to ruin your evening. I was just worried about you."

She rolled back over and glared at him. "Why would you be worried?"

He picked at the fabric pills on the bedspread. "Because you're my favorite Veela sister and I don't think anybody on this planet is good enough for you." He snuck a look out of the corner of his eye and thought he saw the corner of her lip creep up.

"So that means you're going to ruin all my dates?" she asked.

"I'll tone it down. But I am going to make sure that they know what'll happen if they let themselves get out of control and hurt you."

"Great, so they'll still be afraid."

Harry found a whole other pile of fabric pills to pick at. "How about this," he said after a moment of thought. "I'll warn them that your 'no' means 'no' and your 'yes' means 'maybe'."

She huffed.

"That's the best you're going to get," he informed her.

"Fine! But it doesn't make up for last night."

"So what would?" he asked, and wondered how much more she could wrap him around her finger.

She thought for a second. "I'm going to call him today and find out if he'll go out with me again, and the next time, you're going to talk to him like a _normal _person."

Harry took a deep breath. "Okay."

There was no doubting the grin this time. "But remember," he said, "where you're concerned, I have _very_ high standards when it comes to wizards."

Her eyes grew soft and she pushed herself up to hug him. "This is how I always imagined it."

"What's that?" he asked."

"Having a big brother. Now get out of my room unless you want another look at my cute little ass."

"No thanks," Harry assured her, and then pointed to the walls as he stood up. "Nice pictures."

She had the courtesy to look chagrined. "Sorry. I _was _infatuated with you before last year. Then after the second task, well, what little girl wouldn't have pictures of her hero up on her wall?"

"You weren't in danger," he said automatically.

"I know, but it did get Fleur to notice you. So it can't be all bad."

He picked up a spare pillow, threw it at her, and left the room.

"By the way," she said as he stepped out. "I always kick my covers off when I sleep. So how did you like the view?"

He hit her with a tickling charm and slammed the door shut behind him.

Sirius and the others left on the Tuesday following the Christmas party, though he promised that he'd try to make it back for New Year's Eve. But even with them gone, the next week was possibly the best in Harry's life. He exercised in the mornings before dawn, spent the day with Fleur laughing, joking, and scheming against Gabrielle, and even had some time in the evenings to finish reading _A Dark Journey to Power_.

The last few stories were darker than anything he'd ever heard of before, with the possible exception of the Horcruxes. One story, in gory detail, explained how one Dark wizard murdered another in a blood ritual, and then possessed him as he was dying to steal his magic. What was even more frightening, was that it worked, until the wizard went insane a few hours later. From there, the stories just got worse.

Harry shelved the book and finished getting dressed. It was the twenty-fourth of December, and Gabrielle made Harry and Fleur promise that they would go with her to Paris that evening.

The doorbell rang fifteen minutes before they were to leave. "I'll get it!" Gabrielle said, and ran down the stairs. She appeared a couple of minutes later, pulling a boy by the arm. "This is Locum. You all met him last time, but apparently didn't bother to get his name." She stared at Harry. "Introduce yourself again . . . nicely this time, please."

Harry stepped forward and shook his hand. "Hi, Locum. Sorry about last time, I guess I got a little carried away trying to protect Gabby."

"A little?" Gabrielle asked.

"Alright, quite a bit."

"And this," she continued. "Is my sister, Fleur. She and Harry are dating, finally." Locum gave Fleur a quick look and a self-deprecating smile before averting his eyes.

"Don't worry," Gabrielle said. "You'll get sick to your stomach watching Fleur and 'Arry fawn all over each other tonight. After that, you won't have a problem looking at her, though you probably won't want to." She gave Harry another look before continuing. "Hypocrites."

"What did I do?" Fleur asked, hands out from her sides and her eyebrows pulled together.

"Nothing. That's the point!" She turned to her parents. "And this is my Papa and _Maman_."

Harry covered his mouth to stop from laughing at the look Fleur was shooting at Gabrielle.

At the same time, Locum shook Mr. Delacour's hand and smiled at Mrs. Delacour in much the same way he did at Fleur. Harry wondered if he had permanently frightened the wizard.

"Relax, Locum," Mrs. Delacour said, "we appreciate the deference you're showing us, but we're also used to the occasional stare."

"_Oui, Madame _Delacour."

At least he gets points for being respectful, Harry thought. And he knows how to dress like a Muggle as well. Regular jeans and a heavy blue jumper under a coat wasn't that bad of an outfit on a night like this.

His assessment of the ponce went up a few notches. Now he was just a git for dating Gabrielle. "Ready to go?" Harry asked.

They walked over to the Floo in the smaller sitting room. "Aren't you taking a coat, 'Arry?" Mrs. Delacour asked.

"Naa, the jumper is made for school, It'll be fine."

"School?" Locum asked.

"Durmstrang. It's gets cold there."

Locum raised his eyebrows in surprise, but didn't say anything else until he threw his handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and called out, "_Rue de la Magie._"

Gabrielle turned around to Fleur and Harry before following her date. "Behave, and be nice! Or so help me I'll get grandma to throw fireballs at the both of you!" She stepped into the Floo and disappeared.

"How did I get included in this?" Fleur asked the empty fireplace. She shook her head and took a handful of powder, then looked at Harry. "I guess I'll go next, I'd rather be the one to catch you. Gabrielle's liable to hit you with a Tripping Jinx instead, though you really don't need the help." She gave him a cute wink and called out her destination.

Harry took a handful of powder, but Mr. Delacour spoke up behind him. "Could you remember something tonight?"

He turned around. "What's that?"

"Gabrielle's going to try and rile you up a bit tonight, but she also wants your approval, more than you can imagine." Harry mulled that over as he followed the powder into the green flames. The fireplace on the other side spit him out and he fell right into Fleur's arms.

"You really need to learn how to travel by Floo, love," she said.

"If it's not a broom, I'm not interested," he answered. "Besides, if I get to fall into your arms every time, why should I learn? OUCH." He spun around to find Gabrielle standing there with her wand extended towards him. "Why did you hit me with a Stinging Jinx?"

"Oh, dear beautiful Fleur," she mocked, both hands over her heart, "if I get to fall into your lovely arms every time, why should I even spend a moment learning how not to do so." Her arms dropped the side. "It was bad, 'Arry, horribly bad. You deserved more than a Stinging Jinx, but I went easy on you this time."

Harry looked over to Locum. "Lesson one, Veela girlfriends are wicked. Always remember that."

"Wicked?" Fleur asked. "You haven't seen wicked yet." She put an arm around Gabrielle and led them away from the Floo center. Harry and Locum followed.

"See what I mean?" he said, low enough that neither Veela could hear.

"I'm not stupid enough to answer that," Locum answered.

"Smart. So how did the two of you meet?"

They all walked into Paris proper. "Dueling club," he answered. "She cheated and hit me with that Veela magic and followed with a curse that sat me on my rear end."

Harry threw his head back and laughed. "What was she doing at a dueling club?" he asked once he found his voice again. "I thought she was being homeschooled this semester."

"I wondered about that," he confessed. "My parents are American government workers so my brothers and I are taught in an American school. It sponsors the club. Gabrielle came with a friend. That's where I met her."

"How is she?"

"Excuse me?" Locum asked, and paled a little.

"At dueling. Is she any good?"

"Oh, like I said, she sat me on my rear-end. I'm the oldest person in the club and one of the better ones. She held her own against me until she got frustrated and cheated. So I'd say she's pretty good."

Maybe he didn't have to worry as much as he thought. Harry stepped aside for a couple that were more into watching each other than where they were walking.

"What are you two talking about?" Gabrielle asked, looking back at them.

"You," Harry said. "Now turn around and be quiet."

She narrowed her eyes and he laughed at her until she turned back around. Then asked another question, "I wonder why she went to a dueling club."

"I figured it was because she wanted to learn how to protect herself from idiots that couldn't take 'no' for an answer. If I'm being honest, I partnered with her because I figured that if she could out-duel me, she'd at least have a fair chance with someone else."

"Thanks," Harry said, and reassessed Locum upwards again. Now he was just a prat. They continued talking until Fleur and Gabrielle stopped on the sidewalk.

"Look," Fleur said, pointing up when they reached her and Gabrielle.

Harry followed where she was pointing and saw the Eiffel Tower jutting into the star-filled night. His stomach tightened and he tried to fight off the reminders of the last time they were here. But Fleur somehow read his mind. "Hopefully, this'll be a better memory," she said, and slowly went up on the tips of her toes, her lips brushing against his.

He kissed her back, desperately trying to erase the previous memories. But when he opened his mouth to breathe, Fleur introduced him to a new world that he had only heard about. It was called, aptly, French kissing. Her arms came around him and pulled his head down, deepening the kiss, then she leaned back slightly and bit his bottom lip softly, pulling back a little more and letting her teeth slide over the sensitive skin.

"Better memory?" she asked.

"What memory?" he answered.

"That's what I wanted to hear."

"If the two of you are finished putting on a show, can we go see the lights now?" They both looked over to see Gabrielle standing next to Locum. She had his hand in hers and, to Harry's amusement, he looked both happy about it and somewhat terrified.

"You really have him afraid of you," Fleur said as they followed the couple up the street.

"I have no idea why," he said innocently.

"Right," she teased. "Your show last week has nothing to do with it."

"Maybe just a little, but I wonder if he even realizes I'm two years younger than him."

"Doubt it," she answered.

They crossed the street and walked up _Champs Elysées_. Harry couldn't help but be impressed. Lights adorned everything: trees were lit up in shades of blue and purple; and white lights were strung on metal spheres that created the illusion of Christmas ornaments the size of a small house, with green and purple lights giving off the impression of flowers. At the end, was a giant carousel that Fleur and Gabrielle insisted they ride.

Harry bought tickets and, once it was their turn, climbed into the basket with Fleur. He conjured a cushion unnoticed to keep them off the cold metal seat, and was rewarded with a beaming smile. She laid her head on his shoulder and pointed out views of the city.

When it stopped, their bucket was already past ground level, so they moved a few feet up at a time as people exited below. Harry and Fleur had just reached the top part of the ride when Gabrielle, who was in the bucket in front of them, pointed something out to Locum on her side of the ride.

"You little tramp!" Fleur whispered.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Watch her closely."

Locum leaned over to look. Gabrielle said something, and pointed down a bit more. He stretched to see it, and she attached her lips to his. Locum slipped in his seat, and they both fell down below the edge of the bucket and out of sight.

Harry and Fleur looked at each other, and broke out in laughter, though they tried to keep it quiet for Gabrielle's sake.

"Evil and wicked don't even begin to describe her," Harry said.

"Maybe," Fleur said, "But I think she has the right idea, no?"

Harry's lips were too busy for him to worry about anything until they were out of the carousel and walking back up towards the Eiffel Tower. "Maybe you should study dueling a little more," Harry said to Locum, as they crossed the bridge over the Seine River. "A fourteen-year-old shouldn't be able to take advantage of you like that back there."

Locum stopped on the spot and faced Gabrielle. "How old are you?"

Fleur turned on her. "You didn't tell him?

Gabrielle leaned against the cement railing. "I'm a legal adult. It doesn't matter and you know it. The only reason I let Papa set a time for me last week was so he felt better."

"Wait a second, legal?" Locum said.

Harry took pity on him. "Veela mature extremely fast after puberty. Gabrielle is probably equal to a twenty-year-old witch in pretty much every way imaginable."

"That's true," Fleur said. "But it's Veela custom to tell the wizard their real age so there are no surprises."

"I guess she's right," Gabrielle said. "I kind of forgot that part, seeing as this is only my second date."

Locum gave Gabrielle a long, hard look, and then turned to Fleur. "Are you sure it's okay. I mean, I'm eighteen and where I come from, there are laws against this kind of thing."

Fleur gave him a genuine, warm smile. "Don't worry," she answered. "Our laws trump the Magical French laws when it comes to Veela relationships."

"I guess it doesn't matter," he said. "It's not like I was planning on having sex—" he stopped, and blushed.

Well, so much for even calling him a prat. "Seems you're a right good bloke after all," Harry said. "Let's get going. There's a coffee shop up the way that Gabrielle enjoys."

"Decaf," Fleur reminded Gabrielle when her eyes lit up.

They made it back to the Floo Station three hours later. Gabrielle wrapped her arms around Locum and planted a kiss on his lips. "Thanks, I had a great night."

She threw powder into the Floo and stepped in.

"I warned you," Harry said with a grin.

"That you did. It was nice to meet you, Harry, and you as well, Fleur."

Then he too stepped into the Floo.

Fleur went next, followed by Harry, who tripped and once again fell into her arms.

"I'm beginning to think you do this on purpose," she remarked.

"Not at all, though it might be a reason not to learn how to do it properly."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes at the two of them and walked off to her room.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Could you pass me the _boudin blanc_?" Danielle asked.

Harry obliged, and wondered how all Veela could look alike, and yet so different. Danielle had a longer, narrow face with a smile that overtook everything else.

"And then they both disappeared into the bucket?" she clarified.

"That's about it," Fleur said. She nudged Harry, who was sitting on her right, and nodded towards Paige sitting next to Danielle across the table.

"So, Gabrielle, did you enjoy yourself?" Paige asked.

"It was a fun night."

"I'm sure it was," Danielle mocked.

"But what I'm interested in, was how much you enjoyed being under him on the Ferris wheel."

"Would you all please shut up!" Gabrielle said, banging her fork on the table. "Damn nosy Veela-hens!"

"So let me get this straight." Harry threw an arm over his chair and turned to look straight at her. "When it's you, they're all nosy Veela-hens, but when it's Fleur and me, then it's . . ."

"So screwed up it took a bunch of Veela and you almost killing yourself on the side of a mountain to knock any sense into you."

"Wow," Danielle said. "You weren't kidding, Paige. A mouth and an attitude to back it up. And I thought I was bad."

"You are bad," said the oldest Veela cousin from a few seats away. "I doubt Gabrielle uses her mouth for the same things you do."

Harry chuckled, and continued to pick at his meal, thinking that this was one part of French culture that he could really get used to. Christmas Eve was never like this, even at Hogwarts. A midnight dinner by the third Floor fireplace with all of Mrs. Delacour's family in attendance, was far beyond anything he had ever imagined. Mr. Delacour even seemed to be enjoying himself. His only sibling was a brother that died in the first war and his parents were long since passed away, so there was no family in attendance for him. He wondered if that's why Mr. Delacour seemed to understand Harry better than most adults did.

The meal itself was exquisite, with goose, turkey stuffed with chestnuts, and oysters all served as main dishes. Once again, he found it humorous that Veela would eat something out of their own biological classification, but he wasn't brave enough to ask about it. Speaking of Veela, he was surrounded by some of the most beautiful women he could have ever imagined. A few of them had to have been full Veela, as they seemed to glow in the darkened hall. What would Ron have been thinking now? What if he made it out of that battle alive and they were sitting here together, enjoying the food and conversation? He would have loved it, if he didn't fall under their spell like the both of them did at the World Cup. Then again, Hermione would take care of snapping him out of it. Probably with a kick to the shin—if she hadn't already lost herself asking about Veela heritage and history and magic, and biology and—

"Harry? You okay?"

Harry came back to the present, and realized that Gabrielle was looking at him with a concerned expression.

"I was just thinking about a couple of friends I wished were here. This is unbelievable. I've never experienced anything like it."

Her eyes turned glassy. "You belong here. This is going to be normal for you, no matter what happens in the future between you and Fleur."

Harry felt a hand on the back of his neck, under his hair. "She's right," Fleur said. "And I expect to see you at many of these meals."

Harry caught the not so subtle message and smiled at her. Tonight was not a night to discuss Horcruxes. But it made him feel that much more wanted, all the same.

A fork scraped across Harry's plate. "You need more pudding," Gabrielle informed him, with a smudge of it on her upper lip.

"Git," Harry teased. "Anything else you want off my plate?"

She tousled his hair and shook her head, then stood up to help her maman with something.

"I'm not kidding," Fleur said low enough so no one else could hear. "I don't care what you think; I expect to see you here every year for a very long time. Do you understand me?"

Harry gazed into eyes that were both fierce and begging. "I can't promise anything, but that's my hope."

The conversation stayed light for the rest of the meal, as did the banter afterwards, until Harry went to bed. He turned off his alarm, deciding to give himself a day off from training. But the next morning, he awoke to four Veela jumping on his bed before the sun broke across the horizon.

"Merry Christmas!" Gabrielle, Paige, and Danielle shouted.

"You don't want to know their original plans," Fleur said, sitting next to him.

"Oh, shut up, you old buzzard." Danielle flashed a big smile at Fleur, then at Harry. "So our cousin finally found someone she thinks is good enough for her—very mature, Fleur!"

Harry glanced back and saw Fleur sticking her tongue out at Danielle.

"Anyway, whether she's smart enough to keep you or not—though she better—Paige, myself, and the others wanted to welcome you to the family with this." She gestured to Paige, who lifted a wrapped package in the air.

"Merry Christmas," Paige said, and handed it over.

"Thanks, but, I didn't get anything for you. I mean, no one told me—"

"Don't worry, 'Arry," Fleur said. "It's tradition to only buy presents for immediate family. So whatever it is, they weren't expecting anything from you."

"So go on, open it already!" Paige said.

The other cousins, seven Veela in all, walked into the room. "It's from all of us," Susanne said. Harry remembered her as the cousin that teased Danielle the night before. As it turns out, they were sisters, and she was the oldest of the cousins as well, six years ahead of Fleur, if Harry remembered right from last night.

He looked at Fleur again, and was somewhat dismayed by the confusion in her eyes. "Might as well open it," she said. "If it's a practical joke, we can jinx them all again later."

Harry reached for the present, but stopped. "Wait, how did all you get past my charms?"

All eyes turned to Fleur. "I was able to charm a dragon to sleep, don't look so surprised if I can figure out your charms. They _were _pretty basic, after all."

"I think we're going to have a little talk later," he threatened,

"Oooh, maybe he'll spank you!" Susanne teased.

"Behave!" Fleur said. "I didn't remove the charms so you could all abuse my boyfriend."

"Right, that's your job," Gabrielle suggested.

Paige held up her hands. "Enough! The present, 'Arry!"

He obeyed, and carefully undid the wrapping, making sure to appreciate the obvious care that had gone into it. Underneath was a plain brown box. He slit the top open, only to find two other boxes, protected by a Cushioning charm. Fleur took care of that, and He lifted the first one out and slit it open. Inside was a pure diamond ball the size of a snitch, with the four points of the compass rotating on a plane horizontal to the ground, no matter which way he turned the diamond.

"I—"

"Shh," Paige said. "Open the other one."

He picked up the box, and realized it had a top on it. He pulled it off and found something metal inside. He lifted it out and the lights of the room reflected off a bright golden disk about a quarter-inch thick. It had a center knob made of ivory, from which a silver piece of metal extended three inches to the end of the disk. Below that was another layer of silver, cut into all types of shapes. Both layers had numbers and markings on it, as well as the months of the year and abbreviations. The actual disk itself had a fine, clear crystal layer over the golden face, which had all types of circles and numbers on it again.

He could tell that it was expensive from the weight of it, and that it was some kind of measuring instrument, probably from a bygone era.

Paige sat down next to Fleur. "Do you know what it is?"

"No," He answered honestly. "But whatever it is, it's brilliant."

"That's called an Astrolabe. It's an ancient tool to help know the seasons and dates. There are usually two or three other plates that go with it, but that one is magical and will always correct itself to where you're standing. With it, you can measure the stars, and know the month and day. That one is spelled to even show you the hour. We're all Veela," Susanne reminded him. "Birds always have a sense of direction so that they can fly south in the winter and north in the summer, but no matter how far they go, they'll always find their way back home. With that and the compass, you'll be just like a Veela."

Harry studied the Astrolabe as she spoke, but at her last words, he looked up into a pair of eyes that were surprisingly soft. Then Paige laid a hand on his arm and he turned to look at her, noticing the same softness in her eyes. "No matter where you go, if you have these with you, you can always find your way home as well. Right here to this house, and Fleur."

There were no words for him to express what was happening inside his heart, but in a room full of empathetic Veela, he didn't need them. "You're welcome," Danielle said. She kneeled on the bed, and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered in his ear, "What you did for Gabrielle, and then Fleur, means more to us than you could ever hope to know."

Harry was bright red by the time the last Veela hugged and kissed him. He was surprised to see both Fleur and Gabrielle wiping away tears when Paige let go of him, and ushered the rest of the cousins out of the room.

"That was . . ." he leaned his head back against the headboard. "I don't know what to say."

Gabrielle, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, crawled across it and flopped down next to Harry. She pushed her arms around him and squeezed, then laid there for a few moments. "Merry Christmas, and thanks for being my big brother." She got up, kissed him on the cheek, and left the room.

Fleur took her spot next to Harry. "They all see it."

"See what?"

"You, and me. They know you're going back to fight. This was their way of telling you not to lose yourself, and never to forget that you have a home here, and family; not just me, or Gabrielle, or my parents, but an entire family."

She wiped her eyes again. "Merry Christmas, 'Arry."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

He figured since he was up, he might as well go for his morning run. Two hours later, he was lounging alongside the massive Christmas tree they had put up in the larger sitting room the previous week. The family exchanged gifts, laughed, and had a spectacular time. It was the best Christmas he could have ever hoped for and over the next few days, he also got to know a few of the cousins better, including Danielle, and Susanne.

Sirius and Remus made it back for New Year's Eve, and Harry and they had a great time together with the family. Susanne was extremely interested in Sirius, and Harry found it funny that his godfather made sure that either Harry, Fleur, or Remus was with him at all times. Fleur took to teasing him about it, but she stopped after he explained that Susanne needed someone young and healthy, not an empty soul with very little chance of surviving the war. That didn't go over well with Fleur, or with Susanne when she explained it, and at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve, Susanne planted a kiss on Sirius that Harry was sure he'd never forget, and since he was quite a few years older, she didn't hesitate at all to push out some of her Veela magic either.

Marcus arrived two days later, and they discussed the spring workload, practiced fighting—both with and without wands, and pondered life in general.

One afternoon however, Harry decided to use one of his newly learned tricks on Marcus while dueling. It was a simple but forgotten charm to change eye color. But while learning it a few weeks ago, he accidentally figured out how to transfigure the entire eye color, rather than just the iris. In the middle of a duel, he put the charm on top of the holding charm on his hand, and then at the same time, he released it, transfiguring his eyes blood-red, while silently casting a spell that was used for entertaining children in centuries past. The air roiled in black waves as the whole of his eyes turned blood-red. The overall effect looked just short of demonic. Unfortunately, he had no idea Fleur was watching, and it took him thirty minutes to calm her down enough to explain what he had done, and then another hour and a half before she promised not to hex him if he came back to the house.

The next night, Anastasie and Maryse came to dinner. It went well, as did the conversation between Fleur, Harry, and Anastasie, though it was tense more than once, but in the end, she promised that the Zekānōt would not punish Fleur.

Harry wondered however, about some remarks Mrs. Delacour made throughout that meal, and the looks Anastasie and Maryse both gave her, but decided to let it go. Whatever it was, he figured that it didn't affect him.

At least it didn't affect him as much as tomorrow's return to Durmstrang would. Fleur was going to spend a few days with him there, which he was ecstatic about. But after everything that had happened over the last few weeks, he felt like he had finally found a real home where he belonged, and didn't want to leave it.


	17. Goodbye and Hello

.

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Goodbye and Hello**

The following morning, Harry walked into Fleur's bedroom and found her fighting to close the lid of a medium-sized trunk. He leaned against the wall and watched as she bit her bottom lip and crinkled her nose in concentration. It was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. It was also quite amusing.

"Why don't you shrink the jumpers? I think it'd be easier."

She slammed the lid down and hit the latches, letting out a breathy "Yes!" in victory, then turned to him. "What were you saying to me . . . _love_?"

The single raised eyebrow warned of coming danger, but the humor in her eyes encouraged him to provoke it. "I said, 'a talented witch would have shrunk the jumpers and cloak so it would have been easier.'" He shrugged. "Or maybe logic is just an English thing."

"Barbarians," she sneered. "You don't double-shrink wool. Make yourself useful and take this to the front door, then shrink it down for traveling."

Harry knew where this was headed, and tried not to grin in anticipation. "No."

"Fine, then be useless." She reached for something on the shelf behind her and he had just enough time—

_Clunk! Clunk! _

The latches flipped up and the lid sprung open. Clothing tumbled to the floor. Harry sprinted for the safety of the hallway, but a flash of light caught him from behind. He slammed face-first into the wall next to the door and slid down to a sitting position, the hem of his shirt catching on a hook half way down. The just-healed bones in his face throbbed with anger at the abuse.

Fleur rushed to him and dropped to her knees. "I'm sorry! My God, I'm so sorry!"

He took a steadying breath and blinked a few times. "Don't worry about it, I'm fine."

"No you're not! Move your 'ands and let me see!"

"It's okay, I promise."

"'Arry!"

He huffed, but obeyed, then looked up into a pair of fear-filled maya blue eyes inches away from his. She barely spoke above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I—I was just . . . after last summer—I would never . . . not again."

Harry tried to fathom the meaning of her words, but came up blank until he remembered how much of a prat he'd been that first morning after she struck him. There was no way he was going to make that mistake again. He forced a smile. "I know you didn't. It just stings a little."

A new throbbing sensation picked that moment to make itself known and Harry grimaced.

"You're lying to me." She brushed her fingertips lightly across his face, tracing contours of his eyebrow and cheek over and over again. Harry relaxed into the touch and was almost mesmerized by the time she slipped two fingers under his chin and lifted it up to look him in the eyes. "Please don't."

The pain had already subsided for the most part, but if she wanted to know. . . "Fine, I'm in _so_ much pain that I can't think about anything else. Oh! Ow! Help me!"

Her eyes narrowed, and Harry sensed that her mood had already changed. There was nothing like a little teasing to get a Veela—

He gasped, then gritted his teeth as Fleur dragged her fingernails lightly up the side of his chest, then back down to his waist. He squirmed from the tingling her touched caused. The hooked shirt kept him from escaping and the way she was straddling him made for an entirely new level of sensations.

Fleur leaned forward and her lips tickled his ear as she spoke. "I love it when you move that way."

His eyes flared. "Merlin's blue balls, that's just not right!"

"What's not right?" she purred, and changed directions, now drawing her fingers lightly across his stomach. "This?"

He shivered involuntarily. "Enough!"

"Hmm, I'm not sure I've helped enough. Maybe if I. . ." Both hands touched his sides this time, fingernails teasing and tickling their way up past his chest. He bucked against her.

"Feeling better now?" she asked.

"Oh bugger off!"

She giggled and pecked him on the lips, then slid a hand across his cheek one more time. "'Onestly, are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, it's just a little sore."

"I really am sorry."

"I know, but I've done worse to myself many times. It's not really that big of a deal."

She shook her head. "That's not . . . I mean . . . Huh, I can't really argue with that, can I?"

He chuckled. "See? English logic overcomes French beauty once again."

"English pig!" she teased. "Sit up so I can unhook your shirt."

"I'll just take it off." He reached for the hem, but Fleur put her hands on his arms.

"Please don't, or we'll miss the Portkey."

"That's four hours from now!" he protested.

She blushed, then freed him from the hook and changed the subject. "So did you come to my bedroom just to torment me, or did you have a reason?"

"Not really." He twisted his shirt back into place. "I wanted to say that breakfast was ready."

"In that case . . . wait . . ." She blinked, then blinked again. "That was it?"

"Yeah," he answered.

She closed her eyes and let her forehead lightly thunk against his. An amused smile played on her lips. "Only you . . ."

**~ . ~ . ~**

Early that afternoon, they walked out to the Apparation point with Mrs. Delacour and Gabrielle. He sat his trunk down and rested his brand new Firebolt II (Thunder Series) against it, then called out for Hedwig. A few seconds later, she soared out of the Owlery.

"Would you rather fly or Apparate?" he asked when she landed on the trunk.

She looked at Fleur, then back at him and hooted.

"It's okay. We've made up. She's even coming to Durmstrang for a few days."

Hedwig fluttered her wings in approval, then expanded them fully and hooted one more time.

"You want to fly then?"

Another flutter answered his question.

"Alright, but be safe, you're still my favorite bird."

Three Veela groaned in unison and Hedwig slowly turned to stare at Fleur and Gabrielle.

"I know," Gabrielle answered the unspoken question. "We're working on him."

Fleur snorted. "Yeah, but there's only so much that we can do."

"Hey!"

Hedwig hooted again. If Harry didn't know better, he would have sworn that she sounded amused. He pointed over the olive trees that lined this part of the property to the soft blue sky above. "Get out of here!"

She hopped up on his shoulder, nipped him affectionately on the ear, then spread her wings and took to the air. Harry watched her fly away, then turned to Gabrielle. "We're working on him?"

"Don't you even start with me," she warned. "After what you did to Locum, I still owe you!"

He spread out his arms and adopted a look of innocence. "What?"

She glared at him, then snickered and embraced him in a way that felt too much like last summer's goodbye. It bothered him enough that he stepped back and raised an eyebrow. "You know you're still not losing me, right?"

"I know," she said. "But I'm headed to Beauxbatons this semester and won't be able to come see you. And on top of it, you're headed back with some Veela slut—"

"You little . . . !" Fleur interjected.

Gabrielle stuck her tongue out at Fleur and snickered again.

"Come here, you hen!" Fleur grabbed her little sister and tickled her until she begged for mercy. The proper respect for older sisters now reestablished, Fleur kissed her goodbye. "Don't worry about Beauxbatons, you'll do fine. Danielle is transferring in this semester as well."

Gabrielle snorted. "Speaking of Veela sluts, I'm going to get a first hand education living with her—"

"You better not!" Mrs. Delacour said.

"I agree," Harry added. "If you do, I'll have to have another talk with Locum."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, don't worry about that. He's headed back to the states in a couple of days."

That caught Harry by surprise. "He is?"

Gabrielle nodded.

"I'm sorry to hear that, I really liked him. You okay with it?"

She smiled. "Yeah, he told me his family was moving back to the states before we started dating. So it's not that big of a deal, though I am going to miss him—"

"Wait," Fleur interrupted. "If you knew he was leaving then why . . ."

"Why did I agree to date him?" Gabrielle's smile morphed into one of those wicked little grins she had perfected. "I thought it'd be fun: double-date with the two of you, get kissed for the first time, cause some problems, and all of that without the relationship drama you always go through for a good tonguing." She looked at Harry. "Speaking of which, did she ever tell you about Tavian?"

"Gabrielle!" Fleur's cheeks turned pink.

The wicked grin wasn't so little anymore. "Don't worry; I don't think he got into her knickers, so you're still exploring virgin territory—hey! I made a pun!"

"Keep it up and watch what happens," Fleur warned.

"How often do you say that to 'Arry?"

Fleur's jaw dropped. "GABRIELLE!"

"FLEUR!"

"CHILDREN!" Mrs. Delacour looked back and forth at her two daughters. "I'm sure 'Arry doesn't want to hear the two of you discussing Fleur's supposed virginity."

"MAMAN! 'Supposed?'" Fleur blushed. "Enough! Please!"

Mrs. Delacour laughed. "All right, all right; don't the two of you have to be at the way-station by a certain time?"

"Five minutes," Harry answered, still a little red in the face from the implications of _supposed. _

"Then get out of here before Gabrielle really gets wound up." Mrs. Delacour turned serious. "And 'Arry, stay away from the mountains on that damn broom. I wasn't kidding before, if you get hurt again . . ."

"Sure, mum," he joked, but he was surprised at how good and how right it felt as the words passed over his lips.

She blinked twice, then her eyes softened. Something passed between the two of them and the next thing he knew, she was holding and kissing him like a beloved son.

Fleur cleared her throat. "If you're done molesting my boyfriend, can we go now?

Mrs. Delacour growled at her daughter, then stepped back. "I know you were kidding, but if you ever wish to call me Maman, or Mum, please do, though I'll understand if you're uncomfortable with it."

"Thanks," Harry said. Then a few seconds later, he added, "Mum."

She practically glowed.

Harry pulled a shoelace from his pocket and offered the other end to Fleur, then grabbed his trunk and broom in the other hand.

"Have everything?" he asked.

"Think so," Fleur answered.

He spoke the activation charm. The Portkey glowed for a moment before he felt a slight tug behind his navel.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"This is absolutely gorgeous!" Fleur said later that afternoon, thankful that her avian heritage afforded her the ability to deal with heights. The cliff they were on dropped straight down over two thousand feet. "How often did you come up here last term?"

"A few times. I think I wrote most of my letters to Gabrielle from here."

She snuggled in closer and gazed out over his shoulder to the southwest and the sunset that illuminated the mountain peaks. The eastern face of each mountain was cast in a deep shadow. It all looked so inhospitable, and yet, so beautiful. How could anyone get used to living in a place like this? Then again, how could anyone forget about these mountains when flying next to them on a broom?

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"That night you were chasing the Snitch, what really happened?"

The snow crunched under Harry's feet. "Nothing, really. I just didn't see the mountain. My teammates thought that it was daring, of course my Veela-chicks thought it was stupid"—Fleur snorted her agreement—"but I was just too focused to notice anything else."

The wind picked up and little eddies of snow swirled into the air. She laid her head on his chest. "Is that what's going to happen when you go after Voldemort?"

"What?" he asked.

"You, getting so focused that you don't notice anything else."

"I don't want it to be," he admitted. "But I can't avoid the prophecy."

She took a deep breath, wondering if she was pushing too far. "Promise me something. Promise me that you won't get so focused on your task that you end up getting yourself killed."

His body tensed against her. "I'm a Horcrux, you know I can't make that promise, and you also know why."

She pulled away and glared at him. "And I told you I'm working on that!"

The sun continued to descend in the silence that followed. Fleur turned her back to Harry and leaned in to him, then pulled his arms around her. They watched as the mountains in the east were set ablaze by the remaining sunlight

"Is that why you came here, so you could do research?" He finally asked.

"Partly, but I didn't want to say goodbye so soon, either."

She couldn't see his smile, but she heard his chuckle just before he asked, "So, what's this about . . . Taven? Taben?"

She spun around and swatted him playfully on the chest. "Tavian! And it's nothing. I'm _so_ going to hex my sister when I get to Beauxbatons."

He let out a bark of laughter. "Is that where you're headed next?"

She nodded. "I need to see what I can find in the library there, then I'm going to the Veela repositories, and maybe even a few private libraries if I have to. I'm going find a way to get that damned thing out of your head without you having to kill yourself."

He wrapped his arms around her again and they watched in silence when the distant tip of a mountain pierced the sun. The sky grew purple, green, and if Fleur could believe her eyes, even fuchsia. She pressed mitted hands against her cold nose as nature painted a portrait of beauty until the shadows grew so long that they swallowed the valleys whole.

"I've wanted to share that with you since the first time I saw it," Harry said, breaking the silence.

But his voice was different, almost resigned somehow. She tried to read his expression in the last remnants of the light, but couldn't. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing, why?"

"It just sounded like something was . . . off." Fleur thought back over the last few weeks and realized it wasn't the first time. Matter of fact, whatever it was, it'd been bothering him since New Years. And that was when—

"What did you and Sirius talk about?"

Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. "Nothing much, why?"

"Because ever since you've talked to him . . . I don't know, but something's different."

Harry scratched at his scar. The sun dipped fully behind the mountains and the temperature began to plummet. He stopped in mid-stoke. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Sirius told me that the Order destroyed all the Horcruxes. I'm the only thing left binding Voldemort to this world now, so if someone manages to kill him, I'm out of time."

"You're what!" She was thankful that he couldn't see her look of horror in the darkness, and forced a strength that she didn't feel into her voice. "Listen to me! The prophecy says you're the only one that can kill him, and that means it'll be time when _we _decide it's time. And we're not going to decide that until _I've_ had enough time to do my research and we get that thing out of your head, do you understand me!"

"I guess."

Fleur grabbed him by the front of his robes. "'I guess?' Don't give me 'I guess!' I'm not losing you again."

The howling wind stole Harry's words from his lips and all Fleur heard was ". . . lose you either." But she could guess the rest.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. "Speaking of which, I think it's time to go. I can't see a bloody thing and it's colder than a witch's tit up here."

"A what?" she asked.

Harry laughed. "It's a Muggle saying. 'Colder than a witch's tit in a brass brassiere.' And it's probably worse than that at this point."

She took his hand and placed it on the right spot of her heavy cloak. "It's not in a brass brassiere, but do you want to check?"

"I don't know," he said. "Is it virgin territory?"

She gasped, then launched at him, hoping to take him down in the waist deep snow, weather and frostbite be damned. But instead, she felt pressed and stretched, then blinked and found herself standing inside the ward-free Apparation circle. For some reason, the rule on Apparation and momentum loss flashed through her mind. "the further the Apparation, the less likely any momentum will carry through to the other side." She shook the random thought away, took in her surroundings, and launched at him again. They fell into the knee-deep snow on the valley floor.

A minute later and on the losing end of the ensuing wrestling match, Fleur caught sight of a school-elf as it approached them.

"It being too cold for Harry Potter and pretty Veela. I take you back by elf magic," it said.

That caught Fleur by surprise. "How did you know I'm a Veela?"

"You be with Harry Potter. He only be with pretty Veela. All Durmstrang elfs know this."

Fleur guffawed, but she didn't miss the chance to shove a handful of snow into Harry's slack-jawed expression.

**~ . ~ . ~**

"It's . . . so . . . cold!" Fleur pulled the blankets up to her chin and glared at Harry for moving. He had been sitting under the covers with her in the small upstairs common room for most of the night. "Come on, you'll be warmer in your bed. I'll walk you there, but I don't think I can get in to your room."

She wrapped Harry's half of the blanket around herself, still confused that the roaring fire just a few feet away didn't seem to make that much difference in the temperature of the room.

"But you said your Veela-chicks could get into your dorm.""They can. It was the same way at Hogwarts. Witches could go up into the boy's rooms, but we couldn't get into theirs. Didn't really make sense to me, but . . ." He shrugged.

Fleur gave a short, derisive laugh. "Of course it didn't make sense. All teenage wizards are models of virtue and purity, right?"

"Was Rodger Davies?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Do all the English like to live as dangerously as you?"

Harry grinned. "I don't know. Do all Veela enjoy snogging in rose gardens?"

A growl escaped her lips. It was low, threatening, and completely human, but from the immediate smell of pheromones, she could tell that Harry thought it sexy as hell, and she knew that meant she was about to get exactly what she wanted as well. Wicked? Absolutely, but there had to be some benefit in being a Veela, didn't there? It was even better if she could mix it with her human side.

She knew that tonight, outside of the house elves and a professor or two, there was no one else at the school. Azzurra and Marcus had sent an owl saying that they been held up for some reason and wouldn't be there until noon tomorrow. The rest of the students were to arrive in the afternoon.

Fleur gave Harry her best doe-eyed expression, framed by pink cheeks. "I didn't enjoy it, it was too cold, speaking of which . . ." She faked a shiver.

He took off his cloak and held it open for her. "Put this on. It'll keep you warm until you get under your covers."

Moments like these made Fleur fall in love with him all over again. She widened her eyes and spoke in a voice that sounded like she was ten. "But I don't want to go to my room. It's dark and scary." Fleur pulled the blanket up and hid the grin that she couldn't hold back. It was both adorable and a bit sad that he was falling for it so easily.

"Do you want to sleep here? I'll have one of the elves get you a set—"

"Someplace warmer, with body heat." She lowered the blanket and flashed him a coy little grin.

"You're serious?" he asked. "If we get caught . . ."

"What, they'll kick you out?" she asked. "I doubt it, and if they did, you'd have an excuse to come home. And don't forget,"—she affected the little girl voice again—"I'm so scared. Please protect me, 'Arry."

It was surprisingly warm under the covers. Fleur surmised they were charmed to keep in heat, well, that or it had something to do with Harry sleeping next to her. She rolled over and in the faint light of the room, her eyes fell on the man who changed her life.

He was so cute tonight, and such the dichotomy, even more so now than last summer. After seeing him practice with Marcus over break, there was no doubt that he was dangerous to anyone that crossed him, and that predatory look that came over him? Sure, it frightened her, but it also made Fleur quiver in want. The desire to lose her innocence to him grew stronger every day, and she knew that if he asked, she probably wouldn't be able to resist.

And then, that dichotomy: he wouldn't ask, and wouldn't push. She was thankful for that, not because she didn't want to, but after pushing her love and magic out to him, if she was with him physically and then he died . . . no, she refused even to think about the emotional devastation it would cause. She'd heal, eventually. They all did. But it would be a journey through the very depths of Veela hell; one that often times required the help of the Zekānōt to make it through.

She looked at him again. What if someone had told her that first evening she stepped off the Beauxbatons carriage that she'd be lying in bed with Harry Potter? What would she have thought? That night she asked for the Bouillabaisse, he looked so small, so young, and so cute—too young for her, but still so cute.

Then, the night the Goblet chose the four of them, he walked into that room looking utterly dumbfounded. She thought he had succumbed to her Veela magic. Fleur cringed as she remembered the things she said in that room, and cringed even more when she remembered lying in bed talking with Paige about it later.

And now he was so much more to her, to everyone. The sad thing was that generations of wizards would only know the public persona that built up over time. They'd never get to see the man that was Harry Potter, never see that he was more than a symbol, more than Britain's or even the Wizarding world's hope. He was . . . what? A savior? A martyr? Kind of and yet, even more. He was a _good_ wizard, he was _her_ wizard, and she loved her wizard.

Fleur snuggled in closer and in his sleep, Harry draped an arm around her. She tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes, content for the moment.

**~ . ~ . ~**

"I wonder who seduced who last night?" a somewhat familiar voice asked.

"And 'ow many times?'" Another voice added.

Fleur could feel Harry's lips smiling against her forehead. "Go away before my girlfriend hexes the Veela out of the both of you."

"Girlfriend?" the first voice asked. "I take it Christmas went well?" Fleur opened her eyes and saw Azzurra sporting a lopsided grin.

"No, it was horrible," he answered.

Azzurra snorted. "I suggest you get up before Marcus sees you, or you'll never hear the end of it. We'll uh, give you some privacy, just in case you need to put something on." She walked out of the room, but Médeé stayed behind, leaning against the other bed.

"Can I help you?" Harry asked.

"I was just wondering if she liked your opening position."

Harry reached under the pillow and snagged his wand, but by the time he turned back around, she was already running out of the room.

He turned back to Fleur. "Sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For that." He gestured towards the doorway, then laughed. "They do keep my life interesting, though."

She felt a tinge of jealousy. It was foolish, but how often did emotion and logic ever agree? She saw the way Harry looked at the both of them. Even if he wouldn't admit it, he loved them. And from what she saw last fall, there was no doubt that they loved him back.

Then again, why wouldn't he love them? They were there for him when she wasn't—when she was still acting like a spoiled child. It was her fault that they were in his life in the first place. How dare she be jealous about something she caused? It also wouldn't be good for him. He needed people to love him, even if he didn't see it.

Then again, if he didn't see it, then what good would their love serve? Harry needed to know that he was worthy of being loved. She blinked, surprised by her own thoughts. It did make sense though. After all, the more he was loved, and understood what it meant to love others, the more he could fight against being sucked into the Dark Arts. Someone had to open his eyes, and that someone might as well be her.

She took a deep breath and calmed her nerves. "'Arry, can we talk about your Veela-chicks?"

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur sat in the library later that afternoon. The conversation with Harry went well, or as well as could be expected. Lunch however, was a humorous scene. She had never seen him so flustered. More than once she had to cover her mouth or pretend to sneeze in order not to be caught laughing. Even more so, when they took to teasing him about it after Fleur explained what was going on. Since then, however, her day had grown considerably darker. Durmstrang had a few books that mentioned Horcruxes, and each one she read was worse than the previous.

And this one is the worst so far! she thought, and slammed the book down on the table. It echoed around the Dining Hall-sized room, making it feel empty. Well, not exactly empty. Every bookshelf there came just short of the two-story ceiling and held a ton of books, and except for the wide center aisle, there were bookshelves everywhere. No, it felt empty because she was the only one in there . . . except for one of Harry's Veela-chicks that Fleur just realized was walking towards her.

"Sorry to interrupt."

The German Veela was the most disconcerting of the three, Fleur thought. Part of it was her empathetic ability, but part of it also was the tenderness that she exuded towards Harry, coupled with a beauty and eyes that were breathtaking, even by Veela standards.

"It's Jaleena, in case you don't remember. It's almost dinnertime and I told Harry that I'd come get you in case you couldn't find the Dining Hall."

She put down her quill and stretched, then cast a measuring eye on the other Veela. "Thanks, but it's still a bit early, and the Dining Hall is the easiest room to find."

Jaleena grinned. "True, but we also wanted to hear about Christmas break without Harry around. Médeé's hoping to get enough on him to tease him the entire semester."

Fleur almost smiled. After all the teasing he had done to her over the last couple of weeks, it might serve him right. She gathered the books from the table and stacked the ones that held any information about Horcruxes next to her. "If you're that interested, you should owl my _maman_. She put the memory of 'Arry's entrance into the Christmas party in a Pensieve and showed it to half of France."

"Is it worth seeing?" Jaleena asked.

She chuckled. "Everyone else thought so."

"Maybe I can get Gabrielle to send it up here then," the other Veela mused. She levitated a stack of rejected books to the return cart. "What are you working on, by the way?"

"A few personal things." Her stomach soured at the change of subject.

Jaleena caught the emotional shift immediately and pierced her with a gaze. "Whatever it is, you're not happy about it, are you?"

"No." Fleur tried to hold the emotions back, knowing that the German Veela could sense every one of them: love, loyalty, fear, desperation, loss; they were all there.

Jaleena laid a hand on her arm. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not unless you promise you won't tell 'Arry."

Jaleena shook her head. "If it's something that he needs to know, I won't keep it from him, and neither should you."

Fleur glared at her. "You have no idea what you're talking about!" She picked up one of the books and shook it in Jaleena's face. "No clue at all, so don't you _dare _lecture me about him!" She tried to force the books into her old school bag, and then tried again, but it was too small. She gave up, picked up the entire bag, and hurled it down the center aisle. It hit the floor and split wide open. Books slid along the marble until they crashed against the wall on the other side of the library.

"Thank the gods our librarian isn't here," Jaleena muttered, then turned back to Fleur. "Then educate me. What has you so upset?"

"Why the hell should I tell you?" Fleur spat back. "A few months from now and 'Arry will be just another sad memory for you, just another Viktor. It won't be so easy for me."

"'Another sad memory?'" Jaleena repeated, she gripped the edge of the table with both hands. "You think Viktor is just a 'sad memory'? You ignorant hen! He was my best friend! So help me if you _ever _hint that he's just a 'sad memory' again, we will be doing a whole lot more than having words."

Fleur grimaced, then rested her forehead in her hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to come out like that. Viktor . . . that night in the graveyard, if it wasn't for him . . . he was adamant about saving 'Arry. The way he fought, if he wasn't with us, I don't know if we would have made it out alive." She looked back at Jaleena. "I didn't intend to demean the way you felt about him."

Jaleena searched Fleur's eyes, and then glanced down at the table. "Maybe I overreacted a little myself. I hear Veela do that once in a while." She chuckled at her own joke. "So what did you mean by '_another _sad memory'?"

She stared into those wide blue eyes and somehow, she knew that she'd be safe telling Jaleena the truth. She gathered the courage necessary to voice that her greatest fear was going to come true. "I'm going to lose him." Then the dam burst.

Jaleena summoned the books and Fleur's bag from the floor, took the sobbing Veela by the hand, and then led her up to the dorm that she shared with Azzurra and Médeé. Two other girls used to share it with them, but they had been at Hogwarts the previous year for the tournament.

The door opened to a cozy room with a fireplace and five beds, desks, and a single larger table with chairs in the center of the room. Fleur noticed her own trunk at the end of one of the beds.

"We thought that you'd be more comfortable with us than in the guest quarters, so we had the elves move you in." They sat down on Jaleena's bed. "Why are you going to lose Harry?"

"I can't say. If 'Arry finds out . . ."

She began to tremble and Jaleena draped a comforter around her, then lit the fireplace before sitting back down. "You may not want him to know, but there's no way you're going to be able to hide it from him unless you talk to someone, not when it's affecting you this much."

She was right, too, Fleur thought. Harry was getting too good at reading her emotions. She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. "Fine, but he can't know. If he finds out, he'll march off to that damn island with a death wish."

Jaleena thought about that for a second. "I thought that's why he was training here in the first place?"

"Not like this," she said between sniffles. "If he finds this out, he'll probably be dead by spring holidays."

Jaleena paled. "Why . . . how?"

"Because he thinks he has to die."

"Who put that stupid thought in his head?" she demanded.

"He did, after he found out he was a Horcrux."

Jaleena grew even paler. "Stay here. I need to get the others—Damn it, Harry; why didn't you tell us!" she raged.

Fleur's laugh was thin and lacked humor. "Because he wouldn't want you to worry. That's just the way he is."

Jaleena stopped at the door and glared back at her. "Yeah well, if we save him, I'm going to kill him for this!"

"You'll have to stand in line," Fleur said as the door closed. She lay down on the bed and waited. Ten minutes later, Jaleena pushed it back open, and she, Médeé, Azzurra, and the Headmaster walked into the room. Fleur was surprised to see that a full Veela followed them in.

"This is Professor Sorina," the Headmaster said. "She teaches Veela studies for us." He and the Veela professor both found a seat at the table, and Harry's Veela chicks sat on the bed with Fleur. "So what's going on?" the Headmaster asked.

"It's about Harry," Jaleena answered. "Fleur's been doing some research and she's found something that's really upset her. I thought we should all hear it."

"Fleur?" The Headmaster inquired.

She swallowed. Harry already knew the basics, so there was no harm in starting there. "Last summer, I found out that he's a 'Orcrux."

The odd thing about sitting in a room full of Veela and a Headmaster with a somewhat dark reputation was that she didn't have to explain what a Horcrux was. The conversation with her father and adopted Uncles in the Ministry didn't go so well. They had no idea what the word even meant.

"How sure of this are you?" Professor Sorina asked in perfect French.

"As sure as I'm a Veela. Before Professor Dumbledore died, he shared his memories with 'Arry. I've seen the way the 'Orcrux works between him and Voldemort when he's been asleep."

The room exploded in a cacophony of shouts. Fleur had forgotten that she hadn't told them exactly whose Horcrux it was, though it shouldn't have been all that hard to figure out.

"Quiet!" Professor Sorina demanded. "Now, Ms. Delacour, you're telling us that Voldemort used Harry as a Horcrux?"

"I am."

The Headmaster leaned forward. "When did this happen? I watched the entire memory of that night in the graveyard and saw nothing that would indicate . . . wait, you said Dumbledore knew?"

She nodded.

"Then—of course; the Killing Curse and blood magic, it's an accidental Horcrux, and it happened the first time Voldemort attacked, am I right?"

She nodded again.

"And that means you're looking for ways to destroy the Horcrux without him having to die."

She nodded one more time.

The Headmaster leaned back in his chair and took his glasses off to rub his eyes. "So what did you find out?"

"I don't want to say."

"Nobody will tell him unless it's absolutely necessary."

Fleur looked around the room and every head nodded in agreement, even Jaleena. She had to admit, at some point Harry would need to know, so as long as they waited until then . . . "They share a link. According to what I read this afternoon, if either of them becomes aware of that link, they can attack the other through it at the primeval level. No curses, no spells, just magic against magic."

"That's not so bad," Azzurra said, speaking up for the first time. "I mean, that's what happened when they were in wand-lock last summer. It's about the same thing, just more intimate, right?"

"Not quite," the Headmaster answered. "If they're sharing a link through a Horcrux, then the battle doesn't happen across twenty feet of open space. It happens in Harry's head. If he's strong enough, he can push out of it and enter Voldemort's mind, but that'd be an iffy proposition at best. How much of this does Harry already know?"

"Some of it," Fleur said. "But that's not what has me worried the most."

"It's not?" Professor Sorina asked.

Fleur closed her eyes. "No, it's not. In all the books I've read, very few people were ever used as a 'Orcrux. But in every case, they either became Dark Lords, or died trying."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A week later, Harry and Ilija, another seventh year _Zashtitnik_, were completing their last round of combat training for the day. Harry spun to the right and a curse sailed past him into the wall. He let loose a _Reducto_ Curse and followed it up with a couple darker ones, working on bending the latter two at the same time.

It worked perfectly.

"Mother of God! What was that?" Ilija asked, flat on his back and rubbing his chest.

Harry laughed out loud "Payback."

"For what?"

"For yelling _Allons-y_! at four thirty in the bloody morning when you woke me up."

"That's not what I meant," Ilija protested.

"I know, but I thought I'd make the point anyway since it seems to be your favorite early morning activity."

The seventh year _Zashtitnik_ stuck a middle finger in the air. "If you don't want to tell me, fine, but I'm setting my alarm half an hour earlier tomorrow morning."

"Do it and you'll end up face down in the snow bare-arsed," Harry warned. "And I'm sure Marcus'll help."

"I guarantee it," Marcus chimed in from the lockers against the far wall.

Ilija smirked. "Well then, that's not a problem."

Harry shook his head and walked over to Fleur and Azzurra, who were watching from the side of the room. "So, what do you think? Have I improved any since last summer?" He asked Fleur.

She took his hand and held it against her lips for a second. "Watching you just makes it too real."

"I know," he said. "I felt the same way when you and your father were practicing over the holidays while you thought I was studying."

Before Fleur could answer, the doors opened and Professor Sirko walked in. "If you're name isn't Harry Potter, I want you over here. That includes you, Fleur."

Everyone else made their way over to him, and a minute or so later, they spread out, with Azzurra standing right behind Fleur. The hairs stood up on the back of Harry's neck and he took a few steps from the wall. "What's this about?"

"This," the Professor answered, "is about surviving a lopsided battle." His wand blurred in motion and emitted an endless stream of curses. Markus and Ilija jumped in from either side and rained down spells, catching Harry in a three-way crossfire.

He had no choice but to conjure a shield, but as soon as he did, he recognized the Killing Curse in the middle of Professor Sirko's salvo. He countered it by flicking his off hand. The _Accio_ Charm already in place directed a chair into the path of the Curse. Then Harry reached out with his magic and bent his shield, forcing the spells to ricochet at strange angles, which caused the others to break off their attack and protect themselves.

"'Arry!"

His head snapped to the right. Azzurra had a wand at Fleur's back and an arm around her neck. He conjured a wall, sealing him on one side with Azzurra and Fleur, and Ilija further to the right. It solidified just in time to stop another hailstorm of curses from the Professor and Markus, who were caught on the other side.

He shot a Curse at Ilija and then focused on saving Fleur, and let loose a Stunner that hit her square in the chest. She dropped to the floor and a second stunner smashed into a shocked Azzurra, sending her sprawling backwards into the wall. Ilija let loose two semi-dark Pain Curses and a Tripping Jinx. Harry used the bench against the near wall to his right to shield from the darker curses and jumped the Tripping Jinx, then let loose another Stunner.

Ilija blocked it with a shield charm. Harry grinned. He vastly overpowered another Stunner, then reached out with his magic and narrowed the spell stream to the size of a pinhead. It penetrated the shield with a loud screech before he released it, letting the spell expand as it hit Ilija. The wards in the room flashed to protect the _Zashtitnik _against its brutal strength, but they didn't attenuate the massive backpressure.

At the same time, the wall came crashing down behind Harry. Reacting to the situation, he concentrated on the backpressure and cast another _Accio _Charm, then sidestepped and flipped the point of his wand at Markus, who was coming up behind him. The backpressure wave collided with Markus, and flung him backwards into the air. He hit the floor with a thud and his wand bounced across the marble into the corner of the room.

Harry turned to find the Professor and instead, was lit up with curses like a fairy on a wizard's Christmas tree.

"So," Professor Sirko asked a few minutes. "What did we learn?"

Azzurra rubbed her chest and then thumped Harry on the side of the head. "Don't get rescued by this idiot—especially if he's your boyfriend."

"I had a great plan!" Harry countered. "It almost worked, too."

Fleur sniffed. "I'm sure. My sister you save from the bottom of a lake. Me? Naa, let's just hex the Veela-hen! I think the plan isn't looking so good."

Marcus leaned over to Harry. "I'll get a Portkey for you later. I'm thinking you need to take her someplace special to make up for this one."

"I'm thinking you're right," Harry agreed.

"So, what was this 'Great Plan'?" Azzurra asked. She was standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Fleur and frankly, they both looked unbelievably scary, which, for some reason, made Harry laugh.

"Because it was the last thing you expected," he said. "She went down in a heap and was safe from your wand. You were so surprised that I knocked you out of the fight and could focus on Ilija before the wall came down. If I had another couple of seconds, I was going to _Enervate _Fleur and surprise Marcus and the Professor with a two-person attack."

"And that," Professor Sirko cut in, "was good thinking on the fly." He turned to Marcus. "How did he get you?"

"I have no idea. It wasn't any spell I've ever seen, the air roiled and then bam! I was on my back."

"Harry?" The Professor turned to him.

"I summoned the backpressure from the spell I used to pierce Ilija's shield, then stepped out of the way and directed it at Markus."

The professor chuckled. "Impressive, though I wouldn't ever count on it working again, overall your instincts were dead on, until you got to me that is, then you were just dead."

"I noticed," Harry said. "I have never seen anyone cast that fast in my life."

"Yeah well, that's something I'm about to teach you."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"I wish I could stay," Fleur said that evening.

"So do I," Harry agreed. Technically, they had already left, and were sitting inside Holbein's, an expensive but excellent restaurant situated alongside a museum in Frankfurt. Harry reminded himself to thank Jaleena for the advice. "Sorry about this afternoon and the um, strategy."

The corner of Fleur's lip pulled up. "Just don't do it again, or I may have to come up with my own strategy."

"Sounds like fun." Harry took another sip of his coffee and marveled at the taste while Fleur got over the blush that appeared out of nowhere. He wondered why she was doing that more often lately, but let it go. He was more interested in something else at the moment. The relationship between his Veela-chicks and Fleur had changed a couple of days ago. From Markus, he got that Fleur and they had some type of Veela moment, but what it was, Markus had no idea.

"Not meaning to change the subject, but, can I ask what happened between you and the other Veela the day before yesterday?"

Fleur's breath caught. "Um, it was just Veela stuff. Kind of like establishing a pecking order I guess . . . well, that's almost exactly what it was."

"A pecking order?" His eyes widened. "You gotta explain it now."

"Don't know if I can. Something happened . . . a Veela thing that shouldn't have, not to me, at least."

He noticed that she was actually trembling a bit. Whatever it was had really upset her, so he reached across the table for her hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much to say. Médeé was going on about you and your shopping trip to Milan and I got jealous. When she told me about teasing you in the clothing store by palming your derriere, I decided enough was enough."

"You know you don't have—" he started, only for her to squeeze his hand and cut him off.

"I know. I was just being stupid. But a provoked Veela doesn't back down easily, so Azzurra grabbed me from behind and I immediately transformed. I wasn't even thinking about it. That hasn't happened since my first transformation. Then, Médeé grabbed my arm, thinking I was going to attack Azzurra. The next thing I know, I'm hammering both of them with my Veela magic. Médeé was driven straight to her knees in submission, begging me to stop. Jaleena stepped in and the same thing happened to her. That was when . . ."

"When what?" Harry asked. He saw them all laughing and joking yesterday, so whatever it was, it was over, but this was not like Fleur. She had a temper, but she didn't go around attacking people, at least not that Harry knew of.

"That was when I felt something else trying to come out—like a second form. Veela only have one form unless you're part of the Zekānōt. Maybe we all have that second form, I don't know. Whatever it was, Azzurra responded and shifted into her warrior form for the first time . . . I'm glad you weren't there."

"Why's that?" he asked, wide-eyed.

Fleur giggled, despite herself. "Have you ever seen a Veela Elder in her warrior form?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Good, because they're stark naked, with massive wings and blazing white eyes."

"And Azzurra . . .?"

"Yeah, it was the most beautiful, most awful thing I've ever seen associated with a Veela."

Harry's mind went blank for a second and when it started back up, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Veela go to war naked? No wonder they always win!"

Fleur tilted her head and pierced Harry with a look. "Under everything else, you're still a teenage boy with teenage hormones, aren't you?"

He lifted his hands, palms out. "Sorry, it's just . . . never mind. Anything I say would just dig me deeper."

She laughed. "You're learning. And no, Veela warriors don't fight naked. Anyway, Azzurra's instincts as a future Flock Leader kicked in and she hit me with her magic to force my submission."

"And?"

"I don't know. A full Veela usually submits within a minute, a part Veela submits in a few seconds."

"And you?" he prompted when she fell silent.

"Almost a full minute."

Across the room, a dish shattered on the floor. The server, a cute German girl with black hair, apologized to her table and bent down to clean up the mess. Harry averted his eyes and hoped that Fleur didn't notice when he did a double-take on her rear-end before catching himself, but luck wasn't with him.

"Like the view?" she asked.

"I looked away. I promise I did!"

She shook her head and grinned. "What am I going to do with you? Let's get out of here before any other temptations bend over."

"It wasn't that bad!" he protested.

She laughed. "Keep telling yourself that. Maybe I need to give you a little show so you can make a comparison."

He rolled his eyes and paid the bill, then walked her out of the restaurant and across the street. A tree-lined walkway next to the Main River led to the _Straße der Zauberer, _and the Floo center.

"I wish . . ." his voice faded in the cold night air.

She stopped and pulled him gently toward her. "Wish what, love?"

"I wish that we had more time together, that I didn't have to go back to Durmstrang, that you didn't have to leave."

She put her arms around him. "At least you'll have your Veela-chicks to keep you company."

"Maybe, but they're not you. I already told you that."

"That's what I want to hear, especially after that waitress in there." She gave him another lesson in the kissing style named for her homeland. "Hopefully that's enough to remember me by." She leaned forward and kissed him on the tip of the nose, then took his hand and led him up the street.

"So where's your next stop?" he asked a couple of minutes later, after sidestepping a garbage can.

"Home; I need to get some clean clothes and talk to Maman about what happened. Then I think I'll go directly to the Veela archives in a few days. Professor Sorina has someone there meeting me. After that, I'll stop by Beauxbatons and see how Gabrielle is doing."

"Beauxbatons? Anyone else you're planning on seeing there?" he teased.

"You caught me; I'm in love with a first year."

"Wouldn't surprise me." Harry sprinted for safety, and was shocked that Fleur could almost keep up with him. He relished the toll she exacted in punishment. A few minutes later, they walked to the Floo and he kissed her one last time, and then watched as she disappeared into the green flames. The sense of loss was almost overwhelming, like a part of himself had disappeared, and he found himself moving toward the Floo.

"_To byłoby nierozważne_, Harry."

There was only one person he knew that spoke Polish, the Seeker that had saved his life. It wasn't that surprising to find him here, since this was one of the few cities approved by Durmstrang for visits by sixth and seventh years. "Hey, Stan."

"Were you about to head somewhere other than the way-station?" He smiled knowingly. "I'd hate for the Headmaster to find out that you skipped off to France. He'd have to punish you before our next match."

Harry snorted. "Our match isn't for another month—oh, you wouldn't! You'd wait to tell him, wouldn't you?"

Stan nodded. "Yep. It's the only way to beat you. Of course I'd wait."

Harry laughed and tapped his Portkey. "You're a prat, I'll race you to the way-station."


	18. Contemporaneity

.

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Contemporaneity**

Harry closed his book, lifted his arms straight over his head, and stretched. A satisfying series of pops ran down his spine. He really did like this school, but the chairs here were as hard as the proverbial rock.

"Think you can do it?" Azzurra asked.

The book she had given him contained wards and charms above any that he had yet attempted, and things were going very well so far. In the month since he returned from break, his ability to create wards and cast charms had grown exponentially. He had even re-read the books from the Hogwarts library and began to understand how some of the darker curses worked, and how they would affect him if he used them. In truth, the only thing he was really struggling with magically or intellectually at this point was that Shelley poem, and he decided just to give up on it.

He was also curious why everything was easier now, and asked the Headmaster. Professor Sirko thought the growth was due in equal parts to Harry being able to control his magic, and the new emotional maturity that came out of the love he was developing for Fleur—and others, though in different ways.

And that last part confused him. Not totally, since he somewhat understood his love for the Delacours and those he left back in England. He may not have understood it all that well, but he could at least accept the fact that they were family. What really hexed his wand was his inability to explain the way he loved his Veela chicks, or Marcus, not to mention Paige and Susanne and Danielle and all the rest of the cousins. Was his heart even big enough to return the love he felt from all of them? Was it even possible to love that many people?

"Harry? Are you in there?"

He blinked away the thoughts and answered a bemused Azzurra. "Sorry, um . . . yeah, let's try it."

He walked to the center of the room and started a complex series of wand movements. The first was a slash down in a circular motion. He whispered, "_Praetego Prōpugnāculum,_" and a ripple, like heat from the pavement on hot day, rose from the Floor in front of Harry.

Then he circled himself with his wand and raised it into the air as he chanted, "_Valida Abuto_" to ensure an unwelcome response to anyone trying to enter the ward. The third part was the most difficult, and the most important. The first created the protective walls, the second set the curses, but the third established exactly what was being warded against. He waved his wand in an intricate pattern and cast the charm. "_Magicae Hominis_."

"There, I think I did it."

Azzurra looked up from her book, and then picked up her own wand and cast a spell to reveal the ward. She whistled.

"The first layer is almost perfect; on your first try, too. I'm impressed." She pushed herself off the teacher's desk she was sitting on in front of the room. "Maybe I should test it to make sure the second charm is right."

"No! Don't," he warned.

"Not so sure of yourself now?"

"That's not it; I just don't want you to get hurt."

"That's sweet, but the wards shouldn't discharge yet. Besides,"—she pointed to herself—"I'm Veela."

Harry scrunched his eyebrows together. "What does that have to do with my wards, and what do you mean they shouldn't discharge yet?"

"Our bodies and physiology are slightly different, which means Veela are susceptible to some things normal humans aren't, and we can also endure certain things that normal humans can't."

He smirked. "Different? Don't tell me you actually have a gizzard!"

Azzurra made that cute noise in the back of her throat, crossed her arms, and cocked her head to the side. "A gizzard, Harry?"

"Bugger off, it's the best I could come up with at the moment."

A big smile spread across her face and she started to say something else when the door opened. "The two of you finished in here?" Marcus asked.

"Almost," Azzurra said. "Go stand next to Harry."

Before Harry could protest, Marcus took a step toward the center of the room and straight into the ward line. It discharged, tossing Marcus back through the doorway like a rag doll. He landed in a crumpled heap in the hall.

"Marcus!" Azzurra yelled.

Harry barely had enough time to remove the ward before Azzurra tore past him, then he followed her.

"What the hell was that?" Marcus asked.

"Your witchfriend is teaching me wards," Harry answered.

Azzurra's features froze somewhere between confusion and astonishment. "I didn't teach you that!"

"You just did!" Harry argued. "I did exactly what the book said."

He turned to a first year sitting with his back against the cold wall and eyes the size of regulation snitches looking at pieces of something in his hand.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

The first year sniffled and lifted a broken vase for the gathering crowd to see. "My daddy gave this to me. He made it so I'd have place to put my wand at night because I keep losing it."

Harry couldn't help but think of Neville chasing after Trevor his first year. And to think, now half of magical Britain is chasing him and the bounty on his head. He shook the thought away and extended his hand. "May I see it?"

The boy handed over the broken pieces.

Harry set them on the ground and whispered, "_Reparo_." The vase snapped back together and he inspected it, then handed it back to the firstie. "I think that should do it."

If it were even possible, the boy's eyes grew wider.

"When do they teach _Reparo_ here?" Harry asked.

"Second year," Marcus answered. "First year is all basic spell casting. Why? When did you learn it?"

"Hmm, I don't remember, come to think of it." He looked back at the first year and caught sight of something running down the side of his neck. "Turn around."

Harry inspected the boy's head and found a half-inch gouge just behind the ear. "I think we should get you to the Infirmary and let Healer Glasov take a look at you."

A cute second year witch with an impish grin and blushing cheeks stepped out of the crowd. "I can take him." She snatched his hand and led him off. Half way down the hall, the boy looked up at the girl, then back at Harry. His eyes had to be twice their normal size.

Markus and Harry both chuckled. "Welcome to the mysteries of life," Harry said.

"Yeah, and good luck," Marcus added.

Azzurra cleared her throat. "Will the two of you knock it off, we're not _that _bad."

The two wizards looked at each other.

"If either of you want to experience Veela-fire tonight, just keep it up," she threatened.

Harry bit down on his lip and watched as Azzurra checked the other two first year boys who were knocked over by Marcus. By the time she was finished, they were glassy-eyed and sporting stupid grins. He couldn't help but laugh.

Azzurra rolled her eyes and motioned for Harry and Marcus to step back into the room.

"There's no way you're getting me to step foot in there again," Marcus said. "I think I'll go check on the little guy and make sure that second year isn't taking advantage of him. Harry, I'll see you at dinner."

"Afraid?" Azzurra teased.

"After being flung back into the hallway like that? Absolutely," Marcus answered. "And I'm not stupid, either."

He kissed Azzurra and walked off, then Harry followed her back into the room and closed the door. She picked up the book and read the ward that Harry had just cast. "Come here," she instructed.

Harry walked over and settled into a chair.

"You cast all three charms?"

He nodded.

"The instructions say to cast only the first and second charm, then rest. The last charm is supposed to be too difficult to cast in succession until you're much more advanced." She put the book back on the desk. "How did you do that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just did it, and I knew it was right, too."

"Was that's why you didn't want me to test it?"

"Why would I want to see someone I care about get hurt?" He thought about his words for a second and blushed. "I don't mean care about you like _that_, but, but—"

Azzurra grinned. "And blushes, too? You _are _in trouble," she repeated from the first conversation they ever had. "Stand up."

She put a hand on his cheek and gently pulled his head down, then kissed him just off the corner of his mouth. "I might not be Jaleena, but I can feel just how much you care for me—for all of your 'Veela-chicks.' And yes, we—Médée, Jaleena, and I feel the same way about you. We told you that before Christmas, and now that you and Fleur have established your relationship, we can be even more open with you about our own feelings."

"Fleur mentioned something about that the day after I got back," Harry said. "But I didn't fully understand it."

"Your little sister must not have put that part in the memories of Christmas break she sent us," Azzurra teased. She ignored Harry's whispered threats against Gabrielle. "The mark on you has changed. You've accepted it and it screams to every Veela that you have chosen to be Fleur's and Fleur's alone. So now, we can be more open with our own feelings and not worry about how you would take it."

"I still don't understand," Harry confessed.

"When Veela love someone, regardless of how we love them, it is a very deep, passionate love. It would easily confuse a wizard if he wasn't sure of his own relationship, which is why Veela often don't have close wizard friends who aren't marked by other Veela. But once you're marked and you've accepted it, then we're able to display the depth of our love, without worrying about you confusing it with the type of love you have with Fleur."

"Oh. I uh . . ." He fell silent, completely out of his depth on this particular topic.

Azzurra touched his cheek again in a show of sympathy. "It's okay. You don't have to understand why, just accept that we do."

He nodded.

"Oh," she added to lighten the mood. "It also means that you shouldn't taste as bad now, maybe I should get Médée to see if that's true?"

Peals of Veela laughter bounced off the walls at Harry's deep blush and two-fingered response.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The audit happened once every five years and ranged from indexing every pen to explaining each Knut and Sickle spent. It meant an ungodly amount of paperwork for the entire French magical government, and that included Fleur, who, since she was still a Ministry employee, had to put her trip to the archives on hold until it was over.

She tossed a file on her desk. "I'm headed to lunch."

The other assistants dismissed her with a wave, too buried in their own work to do much else.

Three weeks! She opened the door to the cafeteria. I've been stuck here for three weeks and there's no end in sight! She thumped a beet salad and a fresh baguette on her tray and carried them to the spunky old witch working behind the cash register today.

She cast a measuring eye on the tray of food. "You need to eat more."

"I couldn't, not after last night." Fleur handed over a Galleon. "A few of my cousins and I went to that new restaurant across from the Floo center downtown. I ended up eating way too much."

The witch's lip pulled up slightly. "When I was young, a group of witches 'eating too much' meant we were so hung over we could barely stomach the smell of food the next day."

Her pluck humored Fleur, who found herself grinning. "Well, _I _was completely sober. My cousins, on the other hand, I bet they all called in sick this morning."

"Ah, then they don't work for the Ministry, do they?" The witch handed Fleur her change. "Calling in sick is almost a fireable offense during audit season."

"It is?" Fleur raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I have a way of skipping the audit after all."

The old witch chortled. "Enjoy your lunch, dear."

Fleur made her way to a small, round table next to a window in the cafeteria that looked out over the city. She ate while re-reading the letter that Harry had sent the day before, and snickered at the part where he made good on his promise to Ilija. Poor boy, she thought to herself. He probably froze in that snow, too.

Harry also threatened all types of revenge on Gabrielle for supplying his Veela-chicks with the Christmas memories. It seemed they were doing a thorough job of 'taking the mick out of him.' Fleur smirked, thinking back to the letter that she had signed her sister's name too. Gabrielle was going to be surprised the next time she saw Harry. Let that teach a barely pubescent Veela-smartass to embarrass her big sister.

A shadow crossed the page and she looked up. "Uncle Anselme! I haven't seen you all week."

"Audit season." He had the same red eyes and tired look as her father, and ink spots dotted his otherwise clean but wrinkled dress shirt.

"That bad?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered. "Speaking of which, how's your father coming along?"

"The same as you and Uncle Philippe, if the looks and the swearing I keep hearing from the three of you is anything to go by."

He shook his head. "Getting mouthy in your old age, aren't you? What's gotten into you, anyway?"

"Just 'Arry."

He guffawed. "Don't say that around your father."

"Uncle!" She swatted him on the arm. "Did you interrupt my lunch just to torment me?"

"Of course not, but it's a nice side benefit." He pulled a chair over and sat down. "I wanted to ask you a couple of questions. First, what happened to my Aurors last night?"

Fleur blinked, then blinked again.

They tried it? They actually tried it? I'm going to kill them! "Um, you'll have to ask Paige, Susanne, and Brianna. The four of us went out for dinner and when I left, they were arguing over who could best Obliviate an Auror with just a kiss."

"Huh." Uncle scratched his head. "The only thing I could get out of my Aurors this morning was 'beautiful Veela goddesses.' Then one of them mentioned you."

Fleur smiled. "That was probably Jean. He's three years older than Paige and me. He's the only reason I felt comfortable leaving three drunken Veela-sluts unsupervised in a restaurant full of wizards.

"Veela-sluts?" Uncle repeated. "Since when have you been calling them that?"

"Since our first year at Beauxbatons when Paige and Brianna were caught with two fourth years—by Jean, come to think of it. Rumor has it that a couple of professors had to wrestle Jean's wand away before he did serious damage to the boys, too.

"Really?" Uncle asked. "Wonder why they didn't just disarm him."

"Don't know, but I'm not surprised that he became an Auror, probably'll be a good one too. After that incident, he always watched out for us . . . and kept Paige out of a lot of wizard-trouble, if you know what I mean."

"From what I remember, that's a pretty impressive feat. I'll have to keep an eye on Jean's career. And thanks for telling me, I was worried that something had happened, which leads me to my second question."

"What?" she asked.

"I want you to promise that you won't leave your house alone. We've been getting reports of Death Eater activity across the continent."

Fleur paled. "They're here? In France?"

"Not yet, but there's been sightings in Italy, Germany, one in Belgium, a couple in Bulgaria and Estonia, and a few other places. When are you seeing 'Arry's Bulgarian Auror friend again?"

"I'm not sure," she answered. "I'll probably go back with him for a day or two after spring holidays, why?"

He lowered his voice. "Could you pass a message along to his father? I don't want it to go through the official channels, but the Zashtitnik need to know."

She shifted closer. "Sure."

He looked around to make sure no one else was close enough to overhear what he had to say, then started. "We think Death Eaters are recruiting in prisons again. Australia, South Africa, and two or three South American countries have all reported prison breaks that fit the profile. A few of the Asian magical communities are also in an uproar over a new group of wizards that showed up in Silver masks and black robes."

Fleur gasped. "In Asia, are you serious?"

"Unfortunately, yes. If we're not careful, it's going to blow up into a Wizarding world war. That's why you and 'Arry need to be careful. There isn't a country that's safe now, and that includes both France and wherever Durmstrang is, do you understand me?"

Fleur nodded.

"Good," he said. "So, how's the research going? The repository clerk said you've worked through just about half the files."

She shrugged. "I've spent every afternoon in there and still haven't found a single thing. I need to go to the Veela archives, but until the audit's over . . . how long does it normally take, anyway?"

"The last one was short, and it took just over five weeks. I'd guess—"

"Five weeks?" Fleur's voice shot through three octaves. A group of snobby secretaries a few tables away turned and looked down their noses at her. She glared back at them until they turned around again, then modulated her voice and continued. "I can't stay that long. Every day I sit here counting paper clips, that _thing _in his head gets stronger, it's only a matter of time before . . ."

"Before what?" Uncle asked.

Fleur shook her head, not wanting to experience the emotions that came with admitting what would happen if she failed, but Uncle wouldn't have it.

"Before what, Fleur?" he asked again. His voice resonated with authority.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Before . . . I lose him."

Uncle leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Listen to me. Sometimes, circumstances overwhelm us; but more often than not, they overwhelm us to make sure we're in the right place at the right time."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do," he said. "Well, that, and it makes me sound really smart."

She huffed. "It makes you sound like a fortune cookie. You and Uncle Philippe always talk like that after you eat at that _Vulgaire _Chinese restaurant down the street."*

He chuckled. "We only do it to wind up your papa. It works rather well, too." He stood up and moved the chair back to where he got it. "And don't worry about losing 'Arry, when the time comes, you'll do exactly what is needed, just like last time. And that brings something else up that I wanted to tell you. We ran 'Arry's memories through another set of enhancement spells."

"And?"

"And we found something. It was faint, but we were able to capture it. I think you should come hear it for yourself."

**~ . ~ . ~**

An hour later, Fleur sat at a table in the repository, surrounded by stacks of old files and books covered with dust that made her nose itch. At the front desk, the only other person in the dreary room scratched a quill across parchment, probably working on an inventory list for the audit, Fleur thought.

She ignored the noise and concentrated on what she had heard a few minutes ago: "Your beloved flower needs time to recover." That night, her wand felt so heavy, and her legs trembled with each step she took in the graveyard. It was a miracle that she had gained enough strength not to splinch herself or Harry when they Apparated.

But it wasn't a miracle, was it? Harry had kept the connection; he gave her the time she needed. After everything that he'd been through, he still fought so she could recover, or at least begin the process. In all honesty, it took most of last fall to recover, and not just from the battles that weekend, but also from what she'd become over the years at Beauxbatons.

Wait a second; is that what that voice meant? It couldn't have, she argued with herself. There's no doubt I needed time that night, but . . . could it have meant both? A double fulfillment? That wasn't unheard of, but "your beloved flower needs time to recover" wasn't exactly a prophecy, either.

Or was it?

Fleur rubbed her nose and pushed the books farther away. Alright, if it _was_ double fulfillment, then since I needed time to recover that night to save him from Voldemort, that meant I needed time last fall to recover to save him from . . . what?

Voldemort? Again? Can't be. Harry's the one that has to kill him.

Maybe the 'Orcrux? It can't be that simple, can it?

She slapped the table in frustration. What does saving 'Arry from a stupid Dark Lord have to do with saving him now? What am I supposed to do? Save him from _another_ one? Just how many are there? I mean, before 'Arry turns into . . . one.

She sat up straight in her chair. Sweet Alcyone! That's it! That's what it meant! I'm supposed to save 'Arry from himself! Not from the 'Orcrux!

But then, what will happen with that? Is there some another plan that none of us know yet? And how can I save him from himself. What does he need from his _Beloved Flower?_

She rubbed her nose and shot the books a dirty look, then pushed them even farther away. Your beloved flower_,_ she repeated to herself, your beloved flower, your be—Fleur sneezed—loved. . .

Sometimes, it's the silliest little things that illuminate the hardest answers.

Harry needed to be—loved! That was it! If there was one thing a Veela could do, it was bathe a wizard in an ocean of love! And that was what she'd have to do, even though it would take her to levels of emotional vulnerability of which the very thought was causing her stomach to tie up in knots. And to do that, she knew she had to commit herself fully to embracing every part of her Veela Heritage.

Fleur shook her head at the irony. All that time learning how to be a beautiful human, and now she had to learn how to be a true Veela. Of course, if it helped 'Arry, then there was doubt she'd do it. Maybe that's why she needed all of last fall in the first place? Maybe she had to learn how to be a beautiful human so that she could really, truly love him as deeply as a Veela could, like Azzurra, Jaleena, and Médée loved their . . . Harry.

Her jaw slowly dropped at the newest realization. It wasn't just her love of her mate that he needed; it was the love of friends that his Veela-chicks could give him, and the love of family like Gabrielle, and their maman, and even their cousins! That's why he'd been surrounded by Veela! And the one thing that was more powerful than the Dark Arts, the one thing said to be able to save the blackest soul, was love. So if anyone had succeeded in defeating a 'Orcrux or the draw of the Dark Arts, it _had _to be Veela, and if they did, then it would have been recorded . . .

. . . In the Veela archives!

Fleur grabbed her bag, jumped out of her seat, and smacked into the bottom of the table. It flipped over sending the books and files sailing across the room.

The clerk jumped at the noise. "Mademoiselle Delacour, are you okay?"

"Yes, I mean No, I—"

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I did, but not here, I mean, here, but not in the—oh, never mind!" Fleur bent down and gathered the nearest mound of files. "This is going to take forever!"

The sound of heals caught her attention and she looked up.

"It's okay. I'll take care of this," the clerk said.

"Really?"

The witch raised her wand and grinned. "I'll use magic." She cast a spell and the books and files raced about the room before settling back into their proper locations, then she winked at Fleur. "You should try it sometime. Now go, take care of whatever it was you needed to do."

Fleur thanked the clerk and sprinted out the door. She barely made into her father's department a couple of minutes later before yelling out, "Papa!"

He looked up from the desk of one of his assistants. "Fleur? What's wrong?"

"I need to go to the Veela archives!"

He gave her a second look, then took three quick steps to his office door. "In here."

The door barely clicked shut before he spoke. "Tell me you found something."

She related everything to him: the voice in the memory, her thoughts about love, and even her idea about Veela driving out Dark Arts with their magic.

When she finished, he interlaced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in his chair, eyes closed.

Fleur recognized the look and tried to give him time to process his thoughts, though her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on a stack of folders lying on his desk.

"I just don't know," he finally said. "Prophesies are notoriously hard to interpret and these kinds of events, even more so, then to add the issue of a double-fulfillment . . ." he fell silent again.

"But I can't discount it, either." Papa sat back up in the chair. "I hope you're right Fleur, for the both of you."

"Then can I go?" she asked.

"Why the rush?"

"The longer that 'Orcrux is in his head, the harder it'll be for him to resist the Dark Magic it contains. Please Papa!"

He sighed, then nodded. "Go, and save 'The Boy who Lived.'"

Fleur jumped on his lap and flung her arms around his neck. "Thank you Papa!"

He pulled her in tight for a second, then kissed her on the cheek and let go. "Take my Floo—it's open, and probably will be the rest of the month since I'm stuck in my office, buried under all this paperwork you're leaving me with," he teased.

Fleur skirted over to the fireplace. "It could be worse, you know."

"Oh?" He gestured to the mountain of folders. "Enlighten me."

She grinned and threw a handful of powder into the fire. "What if I was saving 'The Boy who Shagged Me?'"

"FLEUR ISABELLE DELA—"

The whoosh of the flames silenced her father's voice. A few seconds later, she bounded out of the fireplace in the smaller sitting room at home, still laughing.

"Maman," she called out.

Her mother rushed down the hall and stuck her head into the room. "Why are you home so early? Is everything—?"

"I'm okay, but I have to go to the Veela archives. I'm almost positive that if there's anything that'll help 'Arry, it'll be in our history."

"Our?" Her mother gave her a quizzical look and sat down on the couch. "I think that's the first time I've heard you really claim our heritage as yours, and why the sudden rush to go the archives?"

"The way most Veela view the Wizarding world, can you blame me?" Fleur asked, then turned to the side. "Froissé!"

The little elf appeared next to her, face dripping with water and a tea towel flung over her shoulder. Fleur knelt down. "Papa still hasn't fixed the faucet in the kitchen, has he?"

"Monsieur Delacour be busiest wizard," the elf answered.

"Maybe," she allowed. "But Froissé takes good care of us, so he shouldn't be too busy to take care of Froissé, should he? I'll remind him tonight." Fleur gently dried the elf's face and arms with the towel, and ignored the wide eyes and straight-tipped ears that betrayed the elf's shock. "There, all dry. Would you pack a trunk of clothes for me that I can wear in the Mazkānāka?"

The elf nodded, her ears bouncing back and forth. She took the towel back and disappeared with a slight _pop_.

Fleur sat down next to her mother and continued. "As Veela, we have the blood of I-don't-know-how-many thousands of wizards on our hands because of our refusal to help them. If I don't want to add 'Arry's, then I need to embrace my Veela heritage, and quickly."

"Why," her mother said. There was a sharp quality to her voice that Fleur wasn't used to, but she ignored it.

"Well, when it's all over, I'm going to need to be the best Veela I can be for him." She shrugged. "Not like he won't deserve it after everything that he's been through, and is going to go through. I figured immersing myself in being a Veela for him is a small price by comparison."

Her mother's eyes grew hard. "You listen to me. I love 'Arry like a son, but I _never _want to hear a daughter of mine say that she needs to embrace her Veela heritage so she can become a trophy-nurse awarded for offing a Dark Lord. There's a damn sight more to you than being the grand prize in Britain's magical shooting gallery!"

"That's not what I'm saying!" Fleur spat back. "I'm—"

"Don't lie to me!" her mother interrupted. "If 'Arry wasn't around, would you still be as concerned about being a Veela?"

"Probably not, but—"

"But nothing!" Waves of anger roiled off Maman. "Damn it Fleur, you're not some vapid waste of estrogen, so I want to know when you started thinking of yourself as nothing more than some wizard's nightly penis-holster!"

"I—what? You know I don't think of myself like that!"

"I do?" her mother shot back. "When you start spouting off about embracing your Veela heritage for a boy—"

"Man!"

"Whatever, you know what I mean," her mother said.

Fleur caught her next words before they escaped, took a deep breath, then a second one, and tried a different approach. "This isn't about me being a prized Veela. It's about the fact that I've found someone I can be _me_ with. He makes me laugh, he teases me back, and he can love me as deeply as I can love him. So if I have to embrace being a Veela to help him after this war is over, is that so bad?"

Her mother ground her teeth together. "You have no idea—no clue what you're getting yourself into, do you?"

Fleur looked out the window, blindsided by the conversation, and fought to keep control of her emotions. "I thought you liked him, thought you were happy that we put all the drama behind us. Now you're telling me you disapprove?"

Maman shook her head. "I've already told you I loved him as if he were my son. That's not the issue."

"Then what is?" she asked.

"You, Fleur, we're talking about the fact that you're losing yourself trying to be 'Arry's personal savior."

"I am not!"

Maman snorted. "I wasn't hatched yesterday. A few months ago, I heard you talking about being a beautiful human. Now, it's all about being a Veela. What are you going to try to be next month, a faithful House Elf?"

Fleur came up out of her seat. "IF THAT—"

Maman held up a hand, palm out, and cut her off. "QUIET! It wasn't fair, I know. I'm sorry." She took a deep breath, and when she began again, something had changed. "You have no idea what's headed your way, and no concept of the pain that coming along with it. And make no mistake, Fleur, it's coming straight at you like a _Vulgaire _freight train."

A chill crept up Fleur's spine. She sat back down, pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. "What do you mean . . . what's coming for me?"

Maman didn't say anything at first, but the emotions that played across her features unsettled Fleur even more. After a couple of minutes passed, she began to answer the question. "I want you to think about what it will be like if 'Arry isn't the same person when it's all over. War changes people, and it will change him. He will be a shell of the person you love and it might be years before you get your 'Arry back." A haunted expression marred her features. "He is a part of this family now, and we will not turn our back on him, but trust me, the man you find after this war will be very different from the man you knew before it, and you are _not _going to like what you find."

"But, isn't part of love being there for someone if they're really that broken?" Fleur asked.

"To the point of self-sacrifice?" her mother replied. "Of offering yourself up as a Veela-trophy and healer for months on end, maybe even years; to the point of maybe losing your own soul in the pain that comes with it?" She gazed back at Fleur. "That's not—or at least up until the last few months—wasn't you. Where did you learn that, anyway?"

"From you," Fleur answered in a small voice. "I still remember Papa after the last war; how he'd sit and not say a word for hours on end, and you'd sit with him, your arms wrapped around him in silence; how you were so patient with him even though he shut us all out day after day.

"I also remember you sitting right here in that ugly orange couch we had, when Papa would go out with Uncle Philippe and Uncle Anselme. You would cry so hard that you'd start to gag, but it didn't stop you from yelling out to the gods, asking why they had to ruin such a good man. I remember you being so scared for him, and so hurt, and yet, you never left him.

"Tell me, Maman, when that war was over, did you like what you found?"

Her mother's eyes had grown glassy and unfocused. "Those were awful times. I thought I'd lost him. Night after night, in his sleep he'd kick and punch and scream, and all I could do was wrap my arms around him and hold on, pushing my love into him. I hid so many black eyes, bruises, and broken bones with charms . . . if your father ever learned what he did to me, it'd destroy him."

She turned back to Fleur and a hint of something very dangerous undermined the glassy look. "And If you ever tell that to another living soul, and it gets back to your father, I will pluck-n-pack your Veela-ass before your wand even hits the Floor, am I clear?"

Another shiver ran up Fleur's spine. She nodded.

Maman closed her eyes, and when she opened them, the hint of whatever was that was, disappeared. "You also forget that we were already married. Be honest with me, what are you going to do if he ends up beating the hell out of you every night? What if he blackens your eyes and breaks your bones as he thrashes about, reliving his nightmares, then wakes up in the morning without any memory of it. How long do you think you could live that way?"

Fleur stared at her mother. There had always been a depth beneath the flighty Veela-persona, and an intelligence to match—she had shown the latter often enough, but not the former, not like this. And then, what about her question?

How long _could_ I deal with it? Fleur asked herself. Then, despite everything else, the answer that well up from within almost made her smile. So, this is what it's like to be a beautiful human.

"It doesn't change a thing, just like it didn't change anything with you."

"Fleur—"

Fleur held up her hand this time. "Please, Maman, let me finish. You didn't stay with Papa because you were married to him. You could have left him. You could have walked away and given up. You stayed with him because you loved him, and then you used every Veela- and witch-trick possible to get back the man you knew before the war."

"Maybe," her mother allowed. "But you didn't answer my question. How long will you be able to deal with him beating you night after night? What happens if his magic strikes at you with Pain Curses, or Torture Curses, without him ever knowing? What then?"

Fleur looked back out of the windows towards the peaceful town below. "Papa never hit you, and never cursed you on purpose, no matter how mad he got, and I remember how angry you made him a few times. The same is true for 'Arry, and that'll never change. For the rest—I already love him too much. I'd be hurting him and myself even more by not being there for him."

"And what if he doesn't make it?" her mother asked. "Is it worth going through all this if he's not there when it's over?"

Fleur wiped away the moisture that accumulated on her eyelashes at the thought of Harry being gone forever. "Yes, Maman, it is, because I'll have learned how to love with everything I have, and love unconditionally. Is that so bad? And is it so bad to want to love 'Arry like that?"

Maman's demeanor softened considerably. "No, _ma Petite, _it's not. I want to say that it is. I want to protect you, hide you away, and keep you safe, but that's not my place anymore."

She gestured to a spot on the Floor in front of them, next to the window. "I used to set you right there when you were young. You had this old, cloth doll that was missing an arm, but you loved it and played with it for hours on end, every day. When your sister came along, I'd put her on a blanket next to you and you'd entertain her with that doll. She'd giggle and laugh, then you'd start laughing and pretty soon, none of us could catch our breath."

She sighed. "I don't know what happened, but, I blinked, and my little Veela-flower grew up. Instead of playing with dolls, now you fight Death Eaters and Dark Lords, dragons, and demons that haunt the young man you love. You've become me, and yet so much more than me, and I couldn't be prouder of you."

Tears rolled down Fleur's cheeks. She used the sleeve of her shirt to wipe them dry. "No, Maman. I could never be more than you."

"You already are, and you haven't even begun to try yet. Remember that. And remember that I am happy for you; you, and 'Arry both."

"Then why?"

"Because I'm your maman, and truth be told, the closest thing 'Arry has to one as well. You have too much to offer to sell yourself short or lose yourself in a wizard. And when it comes to 'Arry, he needs someone who will be there for him when it is all over and not walk away when it gets rough. I got scared for the both of you because I thought you were turning a blind eye to what lay in your future when you started talking about being a Veela-prize."

Fleur puffed out her bottom lip. "I didn't say it like that."

"I know," her mother answered. "But that's how I heard it. So, why don't we start this again, and you tell me what's going on? I promise, I won't say a word until you're finished."

"Really? Madame Veela?" Fleur raised an eyebrow. "Not a word?"

Maman unsheathed her wand and a bit of humor danced in her eyes. "I'll make good on my threat to pluck-n-pack you, child!"

Fleur stared at it for a second. "Um, yeah, you scared the Green Goblins out of me at that point in the conversation, so let's just move on."

Twenty minutes later, she finished explaining everything. Maman asked quite a few questions, then gave Fleur a few insights about Veela magic and how it mixed with a Veela's love, and even pointed her in some other avenues of research that might be helpful.

She stood up and stretched. "I'll contact Anastasie this evening and see if she can take you to the archives. I'd do it myself, but I'm still not exactly beloved there."

Fleur took her mother's hand. "When I have children, I hope I'm half as good a maman as you are." Then she added as an afterthought, "Though, I'll never utter the phrase _Penis-Holster_ to any daughter of mine."

"Don't be so sure of that," Maman warned. "I said the same thing to your grandmother."

"What!"

Her mother snickered, then it turned into a full-blown guffaw at the site of her daughter's shocked expression. "This isn't the first time I've had this discussion, though it is the first time I've been on this end of it. Your grandmother will laugh hysterically when I tell her about it."

**~ . ~ . ~**

The next day, Fleur found herself in front of the wards of the Mazkānāka on the southern coast of Turkey, about fifteen miles inshore and directly north of Cyprus. The surrounding mountains climbed another thousand feet above the hill on which they stood, and below her, a river meandered around it on two sides.

". . . And remember to keep a low profile," Anastasie said, "If anyone asks who you are, give them only your first name, then tell them you came with me. You shouldn't have much of a problem though, or your trunk of clothes would have been rejected this morning when I sent it on ahead." She looked back toward the Mazkānāka. "You need to transform here to cross the wards."

Fleur obeyed, then took a step and was amazed at power that pulsated through her body. A moment later, she saw the Mazkānāka, or "Elder's Possession," for the first time in her life. Blocks upon blocks of Gleaming white buildings jutted into the air, their roofs built out of a type of red clay. Wide, open archways and recessed windows lined each building.

She looked down the streets that were made of the same clay formed into bricks, and noticed a thirty-foot circle of manicured grass dotting every intersection. In the center of each, a large, well-trimmed sycamore-maple tree provided shade for the few Veela sitting on benches. The main square a few blocks further caught her attention and she groaned. In the midst of it, sat a fifteen-foot wide rock dish filled with water. It rested on three short pedestals.

"Tell me that's not what I think it is."

Anastasie smirked. "Just because we're Zekānōt doesn't mean we don't have a sense of humor. A couple of the American Flock Leaders came up with the idea during the last renovations and we thought it too funny not to incorporate." The older Veela gazed at the massive bird bath. "When you get home, ask your maman about it."

"Why?"

"She should remember it well. Back when your parents got married, it was tradition for Veela to introduce their new mates to the Zekānōt on their fifth wedding anniversary. Let's just say your maman never does anything by half." The smirk grew mischievous. "And do the arithmetic."

"I . . . what do you . . . oh!" Fleur's hand shot up to her mouth. "No! Tell me they didn't! I was _not _conceived on that!"

"Oh, they did, and the Zekānōt banned her from the Mazkānāka, then you were born nine months later. She wasn't allowed back until it was time to announce your transformation."

Fleur grabbed her Flock leader by the arm. "Please, promise me that you won't tell Gabrielle! She'll take it as a challenge to one-up Maman, I'll guarantee it."

Anastasie nodded. "I think that's wise advice, your little sister's definitely getting to be a handful."

"Getting to be? She already is," Fleur corrected.

"True, it's not hard to tell what nest she was hatched in, was it?" Anastasie gestured toward the buildings. "Shall we?"

They walked down the main street and Fleur took in the exquisite artwork in center tiles on each building. They replicated the greatest of the Veela myths and legends. The one to her left showed a Flock Leader destroying Atlantis. The one to her right was a large picture of Veela protecting young children from an army of invaders. The next building had etchings of battles, and the one after that highlighted different myths of a Veela's beauty. Then there were the representations of legends that she didn't know: Veela armies fighting alongside ancient wizards, Veelas drawn as maenads in the midst of the Bacchae cultic rites, and other scenes that she had no comprehension of at all.

They came to a stop at a building with no windows or archways, and entered through the large set of double doors. Fleur had to let her eyes adjust, and when she could see again, she fixated on thirty plus rows of shelves that stood over a hundred feet high, and almost twice that length to the back wall, and lined with files and books of various sizes and almost every color imaginable. If there were any answers for Harry, they had to be here.

The door opened again behind them. Fleur turned around, and was driven to her knees, her head bowed in front of a Veela elder whom she didn't know. There was no doubt about the pecking order, however.

"Stand," the Veela commanded. Fleur obeyed, but found that her knees trembled slightly in the presence of the powerful Flock Leader. She held out her hand and Fleur laid her wrist in the slender palm. The other Veela was small framed, with flowing locks and an air of softness about her, but there was nothing soft about the iron grip she had on Fleur's wrist.

"You have the smell of a boy."

Fleur stiffened. "No, Madame . . ."

"Albescu."

She inclined her head, "Madame Albescu, not a boy. 'Arry has proven himself a man three times over in battle against a Dark Lord. I hope to one day be his equal, rather than him being mine. As I said, a boy, he is not."

Madame Albescu glanced at Anastasie, then shifted the hold she had on Fleur's wrist and pulled her deep into the aisles of books. They sat down at a low-slung wood table. "Forgive me for asking, but how much do you know about your family?"

The question caught Fleur off-guard and she shot Anastasie a frightened look. "Uh . . ."

Madame Albescu waved her off. "That's what I thought. We'll sort that later. I had an interesting conversation a few weeks ago with a Professor Sorina. Do you recognize that name?"

"I met her at Durmstrang."

"Good. By the way, you can call me Petronela, or Petra if you'd like." Then she smiled at Anastasie. "So, I finally get to meet the audacious Fleur Delacour."

Anastasie patted Fleur's hand at the second frightened look she gave her in the last thirty seconds. "The French government passed on a copy of last spring's battle a few weeks ago. Seems your mother convinced your father that it would be important. Besides, a few of us were already following you in the Tri-wizard tournament."

"That we were," Petra confirmed, then shifted the discussion back to the reason Fleur had come. "While you're here, you can work at this table. The material you seek concerning Horcruxes, if we have any, will probably be in this row." She pointed to her left. "But don't spend all of your time there. On the fifth shelf of the third row behind that one, all the way against the back wall, is a bound set of minutes from a few meetings fifty years ago that you should read. It'll be an interesting family lesson. Take it back to your room when you're looking to clear your mind of the Horcrux stuff."

"Thank you," Fleur said. "But if I may ask, why are you so willing to help me? I mean, obviously you know who I am and my family's name isn't exactly the best around here, nor my Flock's reputation, for that matter."

Petra interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her. "First, Veela should take care of Veela, remember that. Second, let's just say I heard from three young Veela at Durmstrang that I had better help you, or else. I am only doing as instructed." She smiled at the obvious contradiction of someone ordering her around, let alone Harry's Veela-chicks.

Fleur's eyebrows scrunched together. "You're not Azzurra's mother, are you?"

"My last name is Albescu, not Sala, remember? And I'm Romanian. Sophia Sala wouldn't raise a finger to help in your research if it involved wizards."

"But Azzurra—" Fleur began, only to be cut off.

"Is just like her mother, and nothing like her. I dare say she's just as powerful, and just as easily provoked, too, but Azzurra has seen too much of the Wizarding world and cares too much for it."

"Cares too much?" Fleur glared at the Romanian Flock Leader, and any ideas she had about liking the women disappeared. "You agree with Madame Sala, then."

Petra narrowed her eyes and leaned back. "And if I do?"

The muscles in Fleur's jaw tensed. "Then I'd say you're a waste of feathers that prefers to preen herself while humans die, and it's Veela like you that make me ashamed of my heritage."

A subtle glow materialized around Petra. "I'd watch that tongue if I were you, Little Chicken."

Anastasie laid a hand on Fleur's arm. "I think that's enough."

"I haven't even gotten started!" Fleur pulled her arm away from her Flock Leader and turned back to Petra. "Forgive me for my lack of respect, Madame Albescu, but this 'Little Chicken' would rather die like the Veela of old than sit on my cute little ass in a birdbath with the rest of the Zekānōt bemoaning something that happened fifty years ago, let alone pretend we're still the ones who have been wronged by the Wizarding world."

Twin streaks of fire shot across Petra's hands and down to the table where they dissipated. "My mother lost three cousins to Grindelwald. How dare you—"

"Cousins!" Fleur cut her off, her voice rising. "She lost three cousins? Let me tell you about loss! The man I love lost his entire family fourteen years ago. Then last spring, I watched as he gathered the only real family he knew—another family that he lost to the same Dark Lord—and said goodbye to what was left of their remains on a battlefield that was once a school yard."

Fleur fought against the magic driving her to submit to the stronger Veela and willed herself out of her chair. She leaned over the table in front of her. "And for your information, I watched that _boy_ curse Voldemort to save my life, and where the hell were the Zekānōt then? Where were they when 'Arry's parents were murdered, or when families were being torn apart on that damned island, or when a school full of children were slaughtered?

"I'll tell you where they were!" Fleur's voice boomed through the archives. "They were in the same place they were fifty years ago; sitting around here bemoaning the deaths of their mother's cousins or their great, great, grandmother's next door neighbor in the French fucking Revolution you worthless sack of flesh! How dare YOU—"

"FLEUR!" Anastasie rose to her full height. Her magic pounded against the younger Veela, and drove her back into her seat. "Enough! Petra has gone out of her way to give you everything you need. I suggest you remember that, and remember that you are here by _my invitation. _Everything you do and say reflects on _me_—never mind that Petra was instrumental in getting the Zekānōt to overlook the fact that you marked a fourteen-year-old wizard. You owe her a debt of gratitude, let alone a _very _big apology."

Fleur sunk down in her chair and put her head in her hands. Tears welled up, but she refused to shed them, instead waiting until her voice wouldn't crack before speaking again. "After everything I saw, including the bodies of thirteen and fourteen year olds who had run _toward _their death rather than away from it thinking they were helping me and the other Champions, I don't understand how we as Veela can be proud of ourselves for sitting around and doing nothing."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then looked at Petra. "I guess I'm wound up a little tight when it comes to 'Arry, I appreciate everything you've done, even if I haven't shown it, and I do ask for your forgiveness."

Too her surprise, Petra grinned. "Little Chicken, after marking a fourteen year old wizard, I'd be more upset if you didn't get emotional over him. At least I now know that I made the right decision about you."

"Thanks . . . but it's not just him, either. He has a friend named Neville whose parents were driven insane with a Torture Curse around the same time 'Arry's parents died. Years later, the same Death Eater murdered Neville's parents and his girlfriend in front of him. Then there's another friend who had to grow up with her aunt because her entire family was murdered in the first war, and I'm sure those aren't the only ones. That's why I don't understand how can we bemoan our past, then ignore worse atrocities that happen to others in the present. I mean, how can we complain that the wizarding world turns a deaf ear to our pleas for equality when we refuse to stand with them against something so evil?"

After a few moments of silence, Petra gestured to the rows of books. "As I've said, make sure you look at the minutes of those past meetings." She stood up and walked away.

Anastasie got up to follow, but Fleur grabbed her wrist. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Her Flock leader cupped Fleur's chin and gazed deep into her eyes. A faint smile broke across her lips and she leaned down and kissed Fleur on the forehead. "Find what you need to save 'Arry, and don't worry about Petra. You did well." She winked, then let go of Fleur and disappeared into the stacks of books.

Fleur took a deep breath, confused by what just happened, and even more confused by her flock leader's last words. No matter what, Fleur thought, this episode was not going to help the Delacour name among the Zekānōt.

It was the last random thought she allowed herself until her head hit the pillow that night, and for the next month, she threw herself into her work. There were murky stories about Dark Magic and saving a wizard that had gone too far down that path, but every story she came across about Horcruxes ended with their destruction, and there were no stories about a human Horcrux. The hope she originally felt dampened considerably, though it wasn't gone.

Petra joined her for dinner the second night, and every night thereafter, they would eat together and discuss how to use Veela magic to heal those they loved for hours on end. Once Fleur came to know the Veela Elder, she felt horrible about that first day, especially after their conversations branched out to the issue of Veela and the wizarding world. Petra was open to listening and debating the points that Fleur had brought up. As it turned out, the Romanian Flock Leader still believed in some separation, but she understood the arguments against it, and even gave them consideration. Fleur also learned that Petra was Azzurra's godmother, and heard a few embarrassing stories about the young Veela as well.

The night before she was to leave, Petra missed dinner, but stuck her head in Fleur's room a little later. "Have you had a chance to look through the minutes I told you about?"

"Not yet," Fleur confessed. "I've been too tied up researching the other stuff."

"That's what I thought, so I brought them to you." She stepped into the room and laid them on Fleur's bed. "Read these tonight and I'll see you tomorrow for lunch. Anastasie is coming back to escort you to France, so the three of us can discuss any questions you might have."

Fleur picked up the first volume a few minutes later and thumbed through it, wondering what was so important about a bunch of minutes from meetings half a century ago. She made herself comfortable on the bed and three hours later, came across something that just about shocked the Veela right out of her.

_Jan. 2, 1939:_

_Zekānōt debated entering war against Grindelwald and expressed worry about Muggle named Adolph Hitler. Opinions strong on both sides. Flock Leader Guillory led the argument to declare an alliance with British and other "allied" wizards. Flock leader Sala led argument against; she stated, "If we must fight, we are better off doing it ourselves than depending on the likes of wizards and witches, or hasn't our history taught us anything." Debate continued for an hour. No vote held. _

Fleur was dumbfounded. Guillory? Her grandmother . . . a Flock Leader? Why hadn't she been told? More importantly, why wasn't her mother or one of her aunts a Flock Leader rather than her third cousin once removed, or however that worked? She flipped through the next hundred or so pages, but found nothing for quite awhile. She was almost asleep when she came across the next entry about her grandmother. Thankfully, a series of chain references on the topic started from that date.

_September 2, 1939:_

_Zekānōt debated Muggle war that began yesterday in Europe. Poland was invaded. Two Flock Leaders report seven Veela deaths. No rape indicated. Flock Leaders Guillory and Sala continued debate from Jan. 2 meeting. Zekānōt voted to watch closely and be prepared to move to protect Veela colonies in Poland and other countries if necessary. Flock Leader Guillory left meeting in protest. _

She skipped ahead to the next entry in the reference.

_May 11, 1940:_

_Zekānōt emergency meeting. Grindelwald forces invaded Veela colonies in France, Belgium, and Luxembourg. Numerous Veela are missing and feared killed or enslaved. Flock Leader Sala argued that it was evidence wizards could not be trusted. Flock Leader Guillory vehemently opposed, and countered that forces should be joined immediately with England and their new war leader, Albus Dumbledore. Zekānōt voted to recognize a state of war existed, but refused to declare war, or any alliance. According to Flock Leader Sala, "Veela will protect the Veela." _

_August, 1940-March, 1942 (revision of record):_

_War update: Zekānōt has participated in thirty-five rescue attempts over the last twenty-two months. To date, eighteen hundred Veela have been saved, three hundred Veela have been lost or killed, and seven Zekānōt have died while on mission. Warrior forms are not used to not alert Muggle forces. _

_July, 1942; Special Meeting Called by Flock Leader Guillory:_

_Evidence presented of widespread program to kidnap and "retrain" Veela to be "docile housewives" of Nazi SS with end goal of producing magical Arian children. Zekānōt voted to condemn program—also voted to condemn new Muggle plan entitled "Final Solution." Vote passed. Flock Leader Guillory demanded Zekānōt declare war on Grindelwald, and declare an alliance with the Magicals from the Allied powers. Vote did not pass._

—_Supplement to July 1942 meeting. Flock Leader Guillory called out-of-order after vote for refusing to submit to Zekānōt . Continued refusal led to unanimous vote of censure. Flock Leader Guillory mocked vote, calling it "a vote to declare the Zekānōt for Grindelwald." She asked, "When will the Zekānōt be handing over Veela and Jews to the Axis powers." She then accused the current Zekānōt of betraying Veela and Veela history. _

_Veela Flock Leaders Jaaht, Jamison, Danebur, and Iaet forced Flock Leader Guillory from chambers. Zekānōt voted unanimously to expel Guillory permanently, and refuse Gegenumenou to descendents through six generations including a modification of Veela-magic to deny naturally occurring Full Veela for the same length of time._

The minutes slipped through Fleur's fingers and hit the bed. It explained everything: why she and her sister transformed so fast, why she felt a second transformation beginning within her, and something holding it back, but also why her grandmother didn't hold any hope in any of her family becoming full Veela.

It also explained why she and her cousins were the most powerful part-Veela that she had ever met, and why she was able to force two of Harry's Veela-chicks into submission, and then withstand Azzurra for time she did.

She climbed under the covers and turned out the lights, then stared at the ceiling long into the night, unable to fall asleep as thoughts raced through her mind. The conversation during lunch the next day didn't help either as both Flock Leaders confirmed her thoughts. She also found out that current Flock Leader Sala was the daughter, and Azzurra the granddaughter of the Veela she read about the night before.

Even though she made no more headway on the Horcruxes, knowing about her history had convinced Fleur even more that she could help Harry.

Anastasie escorted her to Beauxbatons where she stayed for a week. There, she grew even prouder of her little sister, who was excelling in every class that had to do with casting spells and defending against them. She also commiserated with Gabrielle when the younger Veela received a letter from Harry laced with cryptic threats of revenge the day before Fleur left for home.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A little over two weeks later, Marcus and Harry had taken a Portkey to a small, German magical community just outside of Bremen, where they were picking up various potion ingredients that a first-year and two second-years forgot to replenish over the winter break from one of the stores.

"Ready to go?" Marcus asked.

Harry turned away from the wall of German chocolates that he'd been staring at. "Yeah, did you get everything?"

As a response, Marcus picked up a large bag of supplies and they left the store. Behind them, the owner closed the door and locked it.

Harry looked down at his watch. "Does he always stay open this late? It's almost ten."

"Not usually, Professor Sirko probably called ahead." Marcus shrugged. "This is our normal place for restocking student's potion supplies."

"I never knew errand running for forgetful students was part of the head boy's job."

"Neither did I," Marcus answered. "But last fall, I had to buy underwear for a couple first years that forgot to pack theirs. Both sets of parents are Muggle and outside of a dire emergency, there was no way to get in contact with them."

Harry stepped down to the empty street and headed up to the town square. "Some would call a lack of underwear a dire emergency."

"Maybe, but others would call it freedom."

"True." He remembered that first day in France, and his embarrassment at the dinner table over having to get underwear. He did think about going without rather than asking, but the way his body kept reacting to Fleur, it was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

They entered the square and headed to the other side designated for Portkey use. "Explain to me again why we couldn't leave from back there," Harry asked.

"This is Germany, _Herr Potter_. Everything must be _in Ordnung!_"

"English, please?"

"Order. And it makes sense, I think. Better than having people Portkey anywhere they want into town."

Harry was about to tell him that it made sense only because Marcus was German by ancestry when he heard a faint scream. He turned to look for the source, and heard it again, this time much louder, and much more recognizable. Someone was begging, pleading, "Take me, kill me instead!" The already chilly temperature of the early April night plunged and a familiar cold swept through Harry's bones.

He been through this before. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

The ancient Veela progenitor erupted from his wand and in its light; Harry could see ten, twelve, maybe even fifteen Dementors descending on them.

Next to him, Marcus cast his _Patronus_. A Koala bear leaped forward, bright, fluffy ears and all. The two ethereal animals raced into the sky and put the Dementors to flight.

Harry blinked, and then let out a bark of laughter.

"Shut up, Potter."

"Does Azzurra know?"

"I said, 'shut up.'"

Movement of robes and a flash of silver caught Harry's eye. He dove to his left, and bounced off the cobblestone pavement. Two bright green curses streaked past him. He looked back to make sure Marcus was okay, their eyes met for a split second and they reached an unspoken agreement.

There would be no running, tonight.

Harry put a Holding Charm on his left hand and layered it with an Accio Charm, then got back up. The first target stood fifteen yards away. Behind him, nine more Death Eaters Apparated in.

Marcus moved farther to Harry's left to put more space between them. "I hope you brought others."

"We're enough," a heavily accented voice answered.

A large grin creased Harry's face. "If you think so," he said, and slashed his wand through the air. A familiar squelching noise zipped through the air and in the moment of utter stillness that followed, Harry could see that they never expected their target to cast anti-Apparation wards. Feet shifted and wand hands flexed as the realization hit the Death Eaters: the prey—just became the predators.

A light show exploded in the square. Deathly green and violent red dominated the rainbow of curses that crisscrossed. Harry waved his hand at a garbage can and it streaked into the path of a Killing Curse, then he wand-blocked a hex before Marcus's Shield Charm flashed in front of both of them, reflecting spells back toward the Death Eaters.

Harry's wand was in motion the moment the shield dropped. He set loose a fury of his own, finishing with a silent _Denigrationi cladis_—a medieval spell that replicated the Bubonic plague.

He reached out with his magic and bent the curse, driving it into a Death Eater that was casting at him. The robed wizard fell to the pavement and a small part of Harry's brain cataloged the effects as he continued to fight.

The Death Eater had grabbed his head, then shook violently and curled into a fetal position before expressing from his two main orifices and falling into a coma. His heart gave out a few seconds later.

The curse was brutal and painful, and it pleased Harry to no end to see a black-robed bastard suffer. He threw open the gates of his hatred and anger and it surged forth, empowering the Horcrux, which in turn fed his hunger for revenge. Harry reached into his well of malice and cast with precisionist abandon. The names of Dark Curses flitted through his mind:

_Os Eieci!_ A death Eater fell, his bones crushed into dust within is body.

_Ile Ejectus! _A second one fell, bleeding through eyes, orifices, and even his skin.

_Retro Conteram! _A third one collapsed, his backbone snapped in half.

_Intercus Demissus ! _A fourth Death Eater crawled across the ground until the last of his intestines had been ripped from the lower half of his stomach and ejected from his rectum.

And yet, Harry's wand continued its dance, striking down another Death Eater before a boulder appeared over the last two.

Harry turned just in time to see Marcus swish his wand again, releasing it.

The ground shook with the impact and Harry fell to one knee. Marcus sliced the air once more with his wand and the boulder disappeared, leaving a paste of fabric and body fluids, broken up by the occasional soft tissue mass or bone.

Only then did Harry notice that he was bleeding from his face and arms, as was Marcus. He looked down at his own body, then at Marcus and shrugged. "I have no idea why I'm bleeding."

Marcus threw his head back and guffawed. Harry joined him a moment later, reveling in the high that came after combat and the joy in finding that they were still alive. Then Marcus pulled out his Portkey and tapped it, murmured something, and tapped it again. "Grab a hold," he instructed. "We should get back under the Durmstrang's wards, just in case."

He leveled his wand. "_Accio_ package!" It shot towards Marcus and he snatched it out of the air at the same time Harry felt the now familiar pull behind his navel.

**~ . ~ . ~**

"I think the budget can accommodate that," Professor Sirko was saying to two other professors on his finance committee when his body jolted from a shattered Portkey ward. A high-pitched _crack_ that sounded an awful lot like a Muggle .22 pierced the valley.

Sirko shot up out of his chair, wand in hand. The other two other professors in the room joined him, and found themselves staring at two bloodied students with the air of battle magic about them.

"Marcus! Harry! What—"

"Death Eaters," Harry answered.

The Headmaster blurred into action. He yelled out for the head elf and then slammed his hand against a picture of the original Zashtitnik that hung over the low filing cabinets on the back wall.

An elf appeared in front of his desk with a _pop_.

"Activate the defenses, now!"

The elf Disapparated and almost immediately, a handful of elves appeared outside. New wards screeched into existence and creatures that didn't bear thinking about emerged from hidden places of slumber. Professor Sirko already knew that in every hall, three or four elves stood ready to sound the next alarm and if necessary, throw themselves into battle.

The Hogwarts massacre was not going to be repeated here, not on his watch. He motioned to the other two professors. "Check both of them for Tracing Magic, and be thorough!"

They cast Revealing Charms on Harry and Marcus at the same time that the elf popped back into the office. "We be ready, Headmaster sir."

"Thank you," he replied. "Tell the elves in the hallway outside to expect a group of Aurors to arrive by Portkey." He heard three pair of feet beating a path down the hall and grinned. "And could you open the door before my Head-girl and her two friends rip it from the hinges?"

The elf barely got it open in time. Azzurra shot across the room and into Marcus's arms. "We heard the Portkey ward snap," she said by way of explanation. "And since there were only two idiots off campus tonight, we knew it had to be you."

"There's no Tracing Charms on them," one of the professors announced. "Unless you need us, we need to see to our students."

"I don't, Go!" Sirko glanced towards Harry and noticed that he had his arms around himself and was beginning to shake. Médée and Jaleena stepped over and pulled Harry into their embrace.

Just outside the office, two sets of feet smacked down on the Floor. Then a second, third and fourth set followed. The three Veela in the room went for their wands.

"Stop!" Sirko commanded. He no sooner got the warning out when the image of Marcus, only twenty-five years older, walked through the door.

"Dad!"

His father went to his side. "Marcus, are you okay?"

"I was until this Veela-nut came crashing into me."

Azzurra swatted him on the arm and he grinned, then turned back to his father. "We just had a fun little party, ten Death Eaters and fifteen soul bats to boot."

The older man turned to the Professor. "How many of you were there?"

"Not me," Sirko corrected. He gestured to Harry. "It was the two of them."

The Bulgarian Auror looked at Harry, then back to Sirko. "You're telling me that he and my son fought all of them off, alone?"

"Unless I'm reading the signs wrong, I think they did more than just fight them off." Sirko answered.

"Damn," Marcus's father said, then turned back towards his son. "You're going to Pensieve—"

"PROFESSOR!" Jaleena cried.

Harry had doubled over, his scar ripped apart and the wound pulsating. Purple blood pumped out in beat with his heart and ran down the right side of his face. It wasn't hard to guess what was happening. The Horcrux had responded to whatever place Harry went in his mind to fight the battle, and now, he was paying the cost.

"Take my Floo," Sirko said. "Get Ms. Delacour! Now!"

Jaleena and Médée both started toward the fireplace and away from Harry. He collapsed to the floor, clawing at his head.

"I'll stay!" Médée's panicked voice broke over chaos.

"No," Jaleena yelled back. "You go, French is your mother tongue, and it needs to be explained to Fleur, fast."

Médée acquiesced to the logic, but Harry screamed in pain when she stepped away and she turned back to him.

"Go!" Jaleena commanded her. "I've got him!"

She bowed her head. "Forgive me Jansen, and forgive me Fleur for what I'm about to do." Then she pulled Harry in tight and wrapped him in her arms.

And . . . Oh, right on! Sirko thought. That's exactly how I'd like her bent over my desk. Why haven't I ever thought about getting that lithe little body—

He slammed a hand against something sharp and broke free of the imagery Jaleena was pushing into Harry.

Sirko took a breath, and looked back to notice that Azzurra had joined her next to Harry. Marcus sat behind Azzurra, rubbing small circles in her back to assure her that he was okay with it.

Pictures of Azzurra and Jaleena together weaved their way into Sirko's mind and he raised his hand up again to slam it into something sharp.

"Professor," Marcus's father beckoned from the hallway.

He blinked, then looked back at Harry, realized there wasn't anything he could do for him, and exited his office as fast as possible.

"When you're around Veela, Professor, you should learn to anticipate when they will project their magic," the Bulgarian Auror lectured through a twitching lip. "It's one of the first lessons I teach my Aurors."

"I may have to sit on your class next time."

"That may be wise. Now, I believe we would be better utilized checking out the area where they were attacked, unless you have reason to believe Durmstrang is in imminent danger."

Sirko shook his head. "No, no specific reason, but I wasn't taking chances when they showed up in my office looking like that."

"After what happened in Scotland, no one will fault you for the prudent choice." Marcus's father said. He pulled out five handkerchiefs and laid his wand on them before speaking a spell. Then he passed them out to his Aurors.

Sirko put a second spell on them that would allow them to bypass the ward in an emergency, just as Harry and Marcus had done, then removed another ward that disallowed outward bound Portkeys. A second later, the Aurors were gone.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur lay in her bed asleep, wearing a special Muggle hockey jersey and not much else. A loud pop of Apparition echoed off the walls. Fleur snapped awake and peppered the room with random curses of a semi-painful nature.

"Fleur be stopping that right now!"

She did, mainly out of shock. Froissé never addressed her like that unless. . . She grabbed the little elf. "Take me!"

Froissé Apparated them back to the small sitting room and Médée launched into an explanation before Fleur even realized she was there.

"Wait," Fleur said. "Start again!"

"Marcus and 'Arry fought Death Eaters in Bremen. They're fine, but now the 'Orcrux has been set off, and it's attacking 'Arry. Professor Sirko sent me to get you. We're to go back by Floo straight to his office."

Fleur assumed it worked the same way it did last fall when Harry was injured, grabbed way too much Floo powder, and chucked it into the fireplace. "Special Connection: Durmstrang—Headmaster's office."

As soon as the connection opened, she jumped in and was spit out on the other side, tripping and landing on the carpet next to Harry's other two Veela-chicks. She sat up and looked around to find both Veela pushing images into Harry's mind. The magic in the room was thick, and the air was heavy with pheromones, but it smelled different, a cloying sweetness that didn't belong.

She sniffed again and knew exactly what it was: endorphins. Just how bad was he suffering to push that much into the air?

Fleur crawled over to Harry, sat in front of him, and pulled him into her. She pushed her magic out and as soon it touched Harry, she felt both Azzurra and Jaleena pulling theirs back. She redoubled her efforts and pushed her love out as well, carefully, not wanting to mix it with the other Veelas' magic. Azzurra and Jaleena, along with Médée, moved back behind Fleur, and she felt their magic as it supported her and through her, Harry. It was caring, loving, like what Paige's or Gabrielle's magic would feel like.

Fleur touched Harry's forehead.

"It hurts," his whispered.

She reached deep inside of herself and pushed with all the force and power she had. Harry stiffened in her arms, then began to cry. Fleur dove deeper into her own magic, exploring the sensations and trying to understand what she was picking up from him. The one thing she knew was that the pain she sensed was overwhelming.

There was one way to overcome it, but that meant she had to do something she really didn't want to, and quickly. She sought the strength in her soul, and found it in the answer she gave to a cute little redheaded girl who died to protect the both of them.

Yes, she would be worthy. Yes, she was willing to die for 'Arry, and yes, she was even willing to give up her selfishness that he may survive.

Fleur threw her magic out behind her and embraced the other three Veela, inviting them to come back around the two of them and they did so by instinct, then they also redoubled their efforts to push both images and love into him.

Harry's body jerked. He ground his teeth against the pain and let out a low moan, then clenched his hands into fists, knuckles as white as ivory. A minute later, he slumped against Fleur.

"_Mon Amie, _how are you feeling now?" she asked.

"A little better," he confessed. "I'm sorry for you having to come here like this."

"No, 'Arry, don't apologize. This is what it means to love, and I will love you the rest of my life."

And hopefully, somewhere in the ever after, a little redhead named Ginny Weasley would agree that she was worthy of loving Harry, and being loved by him.

**~ . ~ . ~**

An hour and a half later, they were still in the Headmaster's office. The Zashtitnik had returned with a couple of German Aurors and asked for a copy of the memory, which Harry and Marcus both gave.

After a trip to the Pensieve, the German Aurors congratulated them and said that they might be in touch, but the battle was clearly fought in self-defense. About that time Marcus's father, who had finally introduced himself to Harry as Erich Falkenrath, passed on a message from his superiors that Death Eaters had attacked in seven other cities across Europe that evening.

Fleur passed on the message from Uncle Anselme, though it seemed insignificant at this point, then the Zashtitnik team left and the four Veela, plus Professor Sirko, decided to visit the memory in the Pensieve for themselves.

Harry and Marcus sat in the office, waiting for them to reappear. Harry lay his head against the back of the chair and exhaled, then ran the towel over his face again to clean away the remaining blood. He looked down at his clothes and realized that was a lost cause. But why were _all _of his clothes so bloody? He didn't remember being hit by any curses and there was no way the blood from his scar had reached his socks and shoes, was there?

"You looked confused."

Harry cast a glance at the other wizard. "I'm trying to figure out where the rest of the blood came from."

Marcus snorted. "That's what happens when you wand-block as many curses as you did."

He tried to think back to the battle. "I only remember doing it once, at the beginning."

"Once? Are you serious? You killed one of them with some evil-looking curse, then started laughing and walked down the middle of the friggin' square, wand blocking spells like you were some kind of psychotic god."

Harry shook his head. "I honestly don't remember that. Guess I was a little too focused on my target."

"Yeah well . . . it was probably the most impressive thing I've ever seen, but if you ever do it around me again, I'll curse you myself. I will _not _be the one that has to tell Fleur you're dead, not to mention Gabrielle and the three Veela currently viewing the memory with your witchfriend. Do you understand me, _Herr _Potter?"

Harry smiled. Wizards had their own way of telling each other how much they cared, and the feeling was definitely mutual.

"I do, and thanks, KB."

"What?" Marcus asked.

Harry ignored him and wiped his face again, then smiled when he heard Marcus growl at him from across the room.

"Just figure it out?"

"I swear to the gods if you try to hang that on me—" He didn't get chance to finish.

A thoroughly brassed off Azzurra materialized out of the Pensieve, stormed over to Marcus, and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "You're an idiot! A Prat! A stupid child with a wand! You and Harry both! You had the Portkey in your hand. Even after the Dementors, you could have used it to get away. But no, not you! Never you! You stayed there and welcomed the fight, you absolute asshole!" Tears leaked and her hands shook as they held onto his robe.

"It wasn't that easy," Harry cut in.

Azzurra cocked her head and pinned him with an avian glare. "You. Better. Worry. About. Your. Own. Life." She looked past him, and Harry followed to find a pair of eyes attempting to immolate him on the spot.

"Fleur?"

"Don't 'Fleur' her!" Jaleena shouted from her side. He then noticed the two of them holding hands, and wasn't quite sure who was supporting whom. "All four of us—six if you count Gabrielle and their mother—spent five days nursing you back to health only for you to outdo your own stupidity!" Jaleena pointed at Marcus. "And you just _had_ to match his asinine behavior, didn't you, you stupid son of a bitch!"

She turned back to Harry. "This has to at least tie for the most brain-dead wizarding event in the last twenty years."

"Far surpassed," Fleur breathed—her words lacked emotion, and it scared Harry that much more for it.

"I . . ."

"You what!" Médée cut across him. It seemed they were all going to take their shot tonight. "You're stupid idiots, the both of you. But you, Harry, you're a special kind of stupid for what you did. You better be glad you're not my boyfriend, because I'd cut you off for a decade for a stunt like that—walking down the middle of the street. What the . . ."

But Harry could only stare at Fleur as Médée raged on, mesmerized by the cold anger in her eyes. There was something intoxicating about them, almost bedeviling in the power they hinted at—a power over him and him alone. Love. He realized it was an anger born out of love, called into existence because he'd failed her tonight—acted as if his life was his alone to waste, as if she didn't matter. He hung his head, admitted his mistake, and begged her forgiveness.

She knelt and with a fingertip under his chin, lifted his head back up. "I have to be able to trust you, 'Arry. To trust that you aren't going to tempt death to take you away from me every time somebody draws a wand, and trust that you'll make decisions to help you live, rather than help you die."

"I know," he answered. "But it just kind of happened."

She shook her head. "If it was Voldemort, I may have understood. I wouldn't have liked it, but at least I would have understood. But these were just Death Eaters, and you ran off to fight them like you had nothing to lose."

She let her hand drop. "I need to know if that's how you really feel. Do you have nothing to lose by dying?"

He took her hand, touched it to his lips, and closed his eyes as a dull throb pounded on in his head. "I didn't think of it like that. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

"You hurt me tonight—" She stopped, then lifted his head with a fingertip again and gazed into his eyes. After a few moments, she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. "But I'll get over it. I'm just scared because I realized how close I came to losing you, and how much it will hurt if I do."

She sat back and smiled at him, her eyes watery. "Then again, maybe you should buy me a chocolate Torsade to make sure I've forgiven you . . . just in case."

He chuckled. "Knowing my luck, maybe that's not such a good idea right now, but I'll keep it in mind."

A little sound of amusement escaped her lips and she rested her forehead lightly against his.

"Fleur?"

"Yes, 'Arry?"

"Maybe I could get you a Koala Bear instead."

"Shut up, Potter!" Marcus said from across the room. "And if I catch you dreaming about my girlfriend tonight after the images she pushed into you, I'll hide your wand and kick your ass Muggle style."

Harry chuckled again.

Jaleena pushed herself away from the desk against on which she was leaning. "Don't worry Marcus, I have a feeling he'll be dreaming about negotiating with all four of us tonight."

Harry groaned and buried his head in Fleur's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and cackled with the rest of the witches.

"And on that note," Professor Sirko interrupted. "I think it's time to break this up. Harry, we're a few days from spring holidays. Why don't you go back to France with Fleur, just in case you have any more issues with the Horcrux."

"Yes, sir," he answered. The Professor called for a different elf, and a couple of minutes later, all of Harry's possessions were packed in his trunk and sitting before him. Hedwig had just delivered another letter to Fleur earlier that day and was still in the Owlery back in France.

"Ready?" Fleur took some Floo powder and was just about to throw it in into the fireplace when she stopped and looked down at her hand. She cocked her head slightly to the side, then looked back up at Harry. "Take a handful of powder."

He shrugged and did so.

"No wonder you always fall. You only need half that much." She opened her hand to show him the amount, then threw it in and called out her destination, gave him a peck on the lips, grabbed his trunk, and stepped through.

He put half the powder back, then turned around and looked at Marcus, who gave him a faint goodbye nod. They were no longer friends. They had spilled blood together in battle, and that bond _always _goes deeper than friendship. He felt for his father's ring, still on the chain under his shirt, and nodded back to Marcus with a new understanding of what the rings actually meant to the originally owners. Then he turned to his Veela-chicks.

"You didn't have to," he said just loud enough to hear. "I've know what using your magic like that does to you after you've marked someone else."

Azzurra stepped next to Marcus, who put his arms around her. "Yes, we did. I've told you before that we all care for you."

"Yeah, but, the suffering your magic is going to put you through now . . ."

Azzurra shook her head. "It's not quite the same as if we were using it to lure you into cheating with us on those we've marked, so the emotional backlash will be a little less."

"But still—"

"Quiet, Harry," Marcus said. "Accept their gift for what it is, and stop thinking you're not good enough for it either, or I will beat your ass Muggle-style, okay?"

He nodded, then turned to Jaleena and Médée . "If you want me to send a letter to either of your wizards explaining what happened, just let me know."

"That's okay, but I appreciate it," Jaleena said. "I'll explain it to him and if he has any questions, Marcus can answer them. He and Marcus are close friends."

"The same with mine," Médée added. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Just don't do it again!"

Harry laughed. "I won't, I promise . . . though I did learn one thing."

"Yeah, what's that?" she asked.

"I was right."

Médée tilted her head in confusion and a few locks of hair fell over her face, reminding him of just how sexy the peek-a-boo Veela was. He grinned. "Thanks for the images. You really are too cute with your knees pinned behind your ears."

Médée turned tomato red and Harry let out a whoop amidst the laughter, then threw the powder into the Floo, called out his destination, and stepped through. He came out of the other side without a problem and looked around himself, then hitched a crooked smile and looked up, "Hey! it—"

He was hit square in the chest and almost fell back into the fireplace.

"Gabrielle? Wait, what are you doing home?"

"We made a Floo-call to Beauxbatons as soon as we heard about the attack," Mrs. Delacour answered. "We didn't know what happened and thought the worst." Her voice hitched and she too crossed the room and hugged him.

"Thanks . . . Mum," he answered, and had his breath squeezed out of him in response.

"Is that 'Arry?"

He looked over his newly adopted mum to see Mr. Delacour walking into the room. The older wizard pulled Harry into himself. "Thank God you're okay."

Harry stepped back and let his eyes adjust to the dark room, then he noticed that Danielle was there as well, as was one of the two men Fleur called Uncle; Minister Philippe. When he looked at Fleur, she put his lips next to his ear.

"This is how much you mean to this family." Then, even more quietly, she added, "And how much you have to lose."

Mr. Delacour led him to the couch. "Froissé said that you were in a battle with Death Eaters, but that's all she knew."

"He was."

Professor Sirko walked out of the Floo and held out a vial to Mr. Delacour. "Memories, both of the Death Eater battle, and what happened to Harry in my office after. I thought the Ministry would want the former and you would be interested in the latter."

Then he faced Harry. "Take care of yourself, and I'll see you in a little over a week. Take care of Fleur too, she's very special."

"'Eadmaster," Minister Philippe called before he could get back to the fireplace. "Thank you for providing us with the memory, but if you're free sometime soon, I think we should meet to discuss how Death Eaters found him in the first place."

Professor Sirko drew himself up to his full height. "I would hope, Minister that we are beyond accusations of Durmstrang's associations with Dark Arts and by extension, Death Eaters. I remind you that our last Headmaster died in the battle of Hogwarts right alongside the Headmaster of your own school, as well as Dumbledore.

Minister Philippe inclined his head toward the older wizard. "Forgive me, I did not mean to accuse you of anything. Jacque has spoken highly of both you and your school. I only thought that maybe you would be able to 'elp us understand how your 'Ead boy and 'Arry were found so quickly. I would like to know if that town is a place that students attend often, or if travel to and from your school can be traced. Maybe we can identify a pattern that the Death Eaters found, and if so, make travel for 'Arry and the rest of your students safer. These are the types of questions I 'ope you could work with us to answer."

Professor Sirko glanced down at the floor and scratched the back of his head. "It looks like I've just shoved my foot in my mouth, maybe even up to my knee."

"No apology necessary," Minister Philippe said.

"In that case, how does Saturday evening sound?" Professor Sirko asked. "That is, if we don't make it a formal affair. It is the only weekend in the spring I allow myself to relax with Moose stew and Molson."

Harry noticed a lot of raised eyebrows, as did the professor. "Molson, like all beer, may be an acquired taste, but Moose stew is a gift from the gods. I'll bring a pot and we'll make it a working dinner. We can compare it to your fish stew 'thing' that I hear my students talk about."

Harry bit back his laughter at Fleur's mumbled response to "fish stew _thing._"

"Why don't we meet here, then?" Mum asked. "I'll take care of the rest of the meal if you'll take care of your . . . offering, Professor."

Harry caught the quick wink Mum gave Fleur and he shook his head. Damn wicked Veela!

Professor Sirko smiled. "Thank you, that's very gracious. I will see you all on Saturday then . . . with my offering." His eyes danced with humor. He tossed the Floo-powder into the fire, called out his office, and disappeared.

* * *

><p>*An odd fact of history, fortune cookies are actually Japanese, rather than Chinese, and can be found in Japanese literature going back to 1878. Luckily, the article referenced below also referenced Fortune Cookies being found in France – whew! Anyway, for anyone interested in the mysterious past of the Fortune Cookie, check out: Lee, Jennifer B. "Where You Won't Find a Fortune Cookie: In China," <em>The Sarasota Herald-Tribune,<em> Friday, Jan. 18, 2008, Charlotte edition, [accessed 11/28/2012] newspapers?nid=1774&dat=20080118&id=ofQeAAAAIBAJ&sjid=coYEAAAAIBAJ&pg=6416,2304924 It's found on page 2a.


	19. Descent

.

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Descent**

Harry relaxed on the small couch in the larger sitting room. Dinner was great, and he was stuffed from the stewed moose meat, which, to his surprise, he enjoyed. Gabrielle sat next to him and refused to move when Fleur walked in. She pointed to Harry's lap and said something that sounded like "Gid-de-up." He didn't know what it meant, but figured it was an Americanism that she had learned from her friend since Professor Sirko laughed so hard he almost spilled his beer.

Minister Philippe and Mr. Delacour were on the other side of the Professor, both sipping on their own bottles of Molson and eyeing the liquid with reluctant approval. Mum, Anastasie, and Maryse sat in chairs and conjured lounges on the far side of the room. Sirius and Charlie were at the meeting, too. Minister Anselme suggested inviting them yesterday and sent a falcon with a Portkey. He met them earlier at the Ministry and shuttled them to the house.

Next to Anastasie sat an older but still striking Veela. Her silver mane cascaded over her shoulders, framing a youthful face and typical blue eyes. These however, burned with intensity at Harry.

"So, you killed a few more of the black-robed sons of bitches, did you?"

"Don't encourage him," Fleur said.

"And why not?" Those eyes shifted to Fleur and softened. "Be proud of a wizard that can face his enemies like a man, and be even prouder that he chose to do so instead of leaving a small town in the hands of robed devils with the penchant for the Killing Curse."

"I am. I'd just prefer that he wouldn't ignorantly tempt the fates while doing it."

Those eyes turned back to Harry. "She has a point. And may I add, if you ever do it again, leave one alive."

That was a strange request. "Why?"

"When you put on a show like that, you want them to tell others. The effects on morale are devastating."

Harry thought about that. It reminded him of that Muggle he read about last summer. "I guess that makes sense."

"Good." She winked at Fleur. "My grandson takes instruction well. I think you're going to have fun teaching him a few things."

"Grandma!" Fleur said. "Be good!"

Sirius choked on his beer. "Grandma?"

"When has being good ever been any fun?" Grandma Guillory turned to Sirius. "Yes, Grandma. And I consider 'Arry a grandson. My daughter has ministered to him in ways that are only given to Veela-children. In the older days, that meant she adopted him among the Veela community."

She looked back at Harry and Fleur. "Though, I think a slightly different interpretation is necessary here, or that's a very disturbing scene of sibling love."

"Alright, behave," Mum said, "Or I'll have Jacque try to throw you out of the house again." All the Veela in the room laughed at the inside story, piquing Harry's curiosity, but he wouldn't get a chance to ask about it.

Professor Sirko tipped his bottle back and finished it off while. "Sorry to change the mood, but I need to get back to the school in a couple of hours. Ministers, what questions do you have for me?"

The feeling in the room took on a serious tone. Minister Anselme asked, "I speak not well English. We can change for French?"

Everyone around the circle nodded except Sirius.

"Don't worry," Charlie said. "I'll translate for him. We had a number of French workers on the reservation and I picked it and a couple other languages up. We had to find some way to make sure they weren't cheating us in our weekend poker tournaments."

"Then we get started." Minister Anselme switched to French and focused on the Professor. "How often do students visit Bremen?"

"Except for the Head boy and/or Head girl, almost never." Professor Sirko answered in English so Charlie didn't have to translate.

Minister Anselme frowned. "Why's that?"

"There's not much in Bremen unless you grew up in the area. We get our supplies there since the shops give us a great price, and they have no problem running a tab."

"How long has that been going on?" Minister Philippe asked.

"The records go back about three hundred years. We send Markus or Azzurra once a week, and always in the evening of the same day. With the duties of Head boy and girl, it's the one time that's free."

The Ministers shared a confused look.

"Harry?"

He turned to Charlie. "Yeah?"

"How often have you gone with this Markus bloke?"

"Once. I wasn't planning on going last time, but Quidditch practice was canceled so I asked if I could tag along."

"When was this?" Professor Sirko asked.

"Just before Markus knocked on your office door for the Portkey."

Harry looked around at the confused faces. "What's going on?"

Sirius ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Mr. Delacour, who nodded back to him. "Well, it seems that your luck, or lack of it, put you in the middle of a Death Eater attack that had nothing to do with you."

"Nothing to do with me?" Harry said. "How in the name of Merlin's hairy arse can a dozen Death Eaters and even more Dementors descending on a little, out-of-the-way town that I've been to just once before have 'nothing to do with me'?"

"You just answered your own question," Sirius answered. "You weren't planning on going there until just a few minutes before you actually did, and they had no reason to suspect that you'd be with the Head-boy."

"Then why were they there?" Harry asked. "What, they were just out for a Firewhisky and got lucky?"

"Not at all," Grandma Guillory cut in. "They were looking for someone specific, it just wasn't you."

He turned back to her. "Come again?"

"There was more than one threat to a Dark Lord in Bremen that night."

Harry pondered that. "Why would they go after Markus? I know he's an Auror, but they've never operated on British soil."

"You're right," she answered. "But Markus Falkenrath is Zashtitnik and most likely their next leader, like his father, and his father's father. The difference, however, is that it looks as if the Death Eaters have designs on more than just Britain, and since Markus is dating a future Zekānōt member, and a very powerful one at that . . ." Grandma Guillory's features hardened and her eyes burned once more with intensity. "Yes . . . that has to be the reason, and that would mean. . ."

Anastasie held up her hands. "Wait a second; you're stringing too many coincidences together. There's no proof, yet."

Harry looked back and forth between the two of them, and had no idea what they were talking about.

"Am I?" Grandma Guillory asked.

"Yes, you are. And if we jump to conclusions, it may lead us to do something we'd regret."

Grandma Guillory turned on her Flock Leader. "Typical Zekānōt sentiment! A war over blood purity is spilling over to the continent, and our wonderful Flock Leaders still prefer using their wands to pleasure themselves instead of striking down their enemies."

"Don't you dare put me in with the others, Anne-Marie! Just because I'm more circumspect than you doesn't mean I stand with them." Her magic flared and a hint of the regal Flock Leader emerged. "I took up your fight among the Zekānōt the day I proved to be your Successor, did I not? And I have remained loyal to that fight ever since!"

"Her what!" Gabrielle screeched.

Harry looked to his left and saw that her eyes were so wide they looked like they were about to pop out of her head.

Fleur put a finger to her lips. "I'll explain later."

On the other side of the room, Anne-Marie Guillory sighed. "Forgive me, both as my Flock Leader, and as my cousin. There's still too much fight left in me."

"I'm sorry, but I'm lost," Sirius said. "Why is it important who Markus is dating?"

Maryse laid a hand on Anastasie's arm. "You and Anne-Marie huddle together and see what she's thinking. We both know she's been right far too often. I'll explain it to the rest of them."

Anastasie and Grandma Guillory did just that.

Maryse turned back to Sirius. "Let's start at the beginning. Markus is dating Azzurra Sala. Her mother is a Flock Leader as was her grandmother and both of them were one of the three strongest Veela in the Zekānōt in their eras. From what we've seen the same will be true for Azzurra. Now, she is dating Markus and it looks to be very serious—"

"It is," Harry interrupted. "She marked him during Christmas hols."

Grandma Guillory's head popped up. "She did what?"

"She marked him," he said again, "They came back all excited and told everyone."

He wondered why identical smirks grew on the faces of the four older Veela in the room.

"That's very good news," Maryse said. "If he's accepted the mark, then basically, they've chosen to mate for life."

A soft noise escaped Fleur's chest and Harry looked down at her. "Wait . . . we're basically engaged?"

"Oops?" Fleur said.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

She bit her bottom lip. "I didn't want to pressure you by labeling our relationship, but that could be one way of looking at it."

"One way? As in, I'm your fiancé, at fifteen?"

She nodded again.

He could feel her trembling in his arms, and decided that winding her up wasn't a smart idea. "That's okay, Azzurra and the others explained it to me last fall."

Fleur grabbed the pillow next to her and smacked him across the head.

"Good for you, 'Arry," Grandma Guillory said. "Put her in her place. I'd take her shoes, too."

"Grandma!"

After a good laugh at Fleur's expense, Maryse continued. "There are a number of reasons that Markus may have been targeted, but I think they knew his death would cripple the future leadership of the Zashtitnik. The result of his death on Azzurra, if she has been intimate with him, would devastate her to the point that she wouldn't take her place as a Flock Leader, either."

"Son of a bitch!" Sirius interjected. "Listen to me. I've seen this show before. Someone is passing information to Death Eaters, and that someone has a lot of knowledge about both Veela and the Zashtitnik. Who has inside knowledge of both groups, and is tied in enough to Durmstrang to know what's going on?"

Harry noticed neither Professor Sirko nor the Ministers were happy at Sirius's proclamation, especially Minister Anselme.

"Obviously any student or teacher at Durmstrang," Professor Sirko answered. "I'll give Markus's father a call and we can do a quiet inquiry into the backgrounds of a few of our students."

"I'd do more than that, gentlemen," Sirius said. "Information is gold and if we want to win this war, access to information needs to be tighter than the bedroom door to Rome's Vestal Virgins, understand?"

"He's right," Anastasie cut in. "I'll take Anne-Marie and Maryse with me and get together with a few of the other European Flock Leaders. Ministers, I'll suggest that for now, we cool relations with France on the official level, but we can keep this backdoor communication open, I'm quite sure I can trust Jacque."

"We'll tighten up with the Zashtitnik," Professor Sirko said. "I think we may also forgo any more trips from school grounds until summer."

"That's a good step," Minister Phillipe answered. "I'll work with Anselme and Jacque to do a quiet inquiry through a few of our own departments, just to make sure." He nodded to Professor Sirko "I want to apologize once more for sounding like I was accusing Durmstrang of any wrong doing."

Professor Sirko waved it off. "I overreacted." Then he said to Harry, "Monday, I'll escort you directly to the school. Until then, be careful, this attack may not have been directed against you, but now that they know where you are, I wouldn't be surprised if you were targeted rather soon."

The meeting broke up a few minutes later, but before anyone could leave, Fleur asked, "Didn't we forget something?"

"What?" Anastasie asked.

"Azzurra."

Harry smacked himself on the head. "Of course. How do we know that someone won't go after her? Azzurra and her family need to be warned."

"They do have a point," Mr. Delacour said. "But they'd never accept it from any Veela in my wife's flock."

"Not quite," Anastasie corrected. "I'm sure Sophia would listen to her daughter, and her daughter would most definitely listen to 'Arry and Fleur." She looked at the two of them. "If they're willing to take a trip to Italy."

"He can't," Sirius said

"Why not?" Harry asked. "They need to be warned and—"

"And you have a meeting back in Britain to attend, if you want to, that is," Sirius finished.

Harry's heart pounded. "You mean . . ."

"I do," Sirius answered. "But you're coming straight back here after."

Harry caught sight of Fleur's neutral expression and remembered their compromise. His stomach soured. "Okay, but since Fleur's also part of it. . ."

"Of course," Charlie answered. "As long as you're both free tomorrow evening. We'll make sure both of you have Portkeys, just in case."

At least it was just a meeting, Harry thought to himself. Right in, right out, and Fleur will have a Portkey with her every moment she's there.

Professor Sirko offered to take Markus's father with him in the morning and meet with the Salas, then said goodbye and stepped into the Floo. Others followed and the house emptied quickly, until just the immediate family remained. Harry was happy to see that somehow, both Sirius and Charlie were included in that definition.

They caught up on minor stuff before the three older wizards excused themselves to their respective bedrooms. Fleur, Gabrielle, and Grandma Guillory disappeared to Fleur's bedroom for some reason as well. That left Harry in the front sitting room with maman across from him, relaxing by the fireplace.

"My mother's taken a liking to you," she said. "Speaking of which, I'm sorry I didn't come straight out and tell you about the Veela tradition and what it meant."

"You mean being marked?"

"No, you handled that one rather well." She grinned. "I meant my maman calling you her grandson.

Harry got up out of the couch and moved it back to its original position, facing mum, then sat back down. "I already figured most of it out. I still don't know why you did it, but thank you."

"You're welcome. I told Fleur a few weeks ago that I've grown to love you as much as any mother could love a son. That, plus your relationship with Fleur, is why our two strongest Flock Leaders were here tonight."

"Leaders? I thought there was just one leader in a flock."

"Yes and no," she answered. "There's an entire hierarchy, really. Remember when Fleur tried to explain it like a pecking order?"

"I think so."

"Good. Because that's it, all the way to the top. Maryse is the second strongest Veela in our Flock. If something were to happen to Anastasie, she would step into her role, however, anyone in our Flock that is able to take the warrior form could challenge her."

"But, I thought just members of the Zekānōt could take the warrior form."

"You're right."

"Say again?"

Mum laughed. "The Zekānōt are our elders. Technically, every Veela that can take the warrior form is a member of the Zekānōt. Since there's around ten to fifteen in each flock, the leader is the only one that attends the meetings unless it's a war council, but she heavily depends on advice from the other elders in the flock. It's why you seldom see Anastasie and Maryse separated."

"Who are the others in your flock?"

Mum scratched the back of her neck. "We have three."

"I thought you said—"

"Sometimes things happen . . ." Mum cut him off.

Harry realized that was all she was going to say, and something told him prying wasn't a good idea, so he moved on. "If anyone that can take the form is already part of the Zekānōt, then does that mean Azzurra is an elder already?"

"Technically, yes," Mum answered. "It'll be a while before she can work up through her flock, however, depending on how strong she is."

"But, what if something happens and someone else steps in before she's ready? Won't she lose out?"

"A Veela's magic knows who is who. When it is time for Azzurra to become the Flock Leader, whoever is in charge will step down. If she isn't willing, then the same thing that happened between her and Fleur will happen between them. It's primitive, but it works. It's also how the Zekānōt can function with so many Veela. Each Flock Leader is equal in Veela law, but the reality is that they often acquiesce to the stronger leaders."

"But then, doesn't that amount to a dictatorship?"

"Oligarchy," Mum corrected.

"That too."

She chuckled. "No. As you heard, our flock and many in Azzurra's don't get along, but her mother has never tried to make Anastasie agree through force. That type of thing is not done except in extreme times, such as war."

"But I thought you just said . . . ?"

"The stronger Flock Leaders ask for opinions, and then try to form a consensus. Once reached, the weaker Flock Leaders support it." The doorbell rang and Mum's glanced back over her shoulder. "I need to get that."

Harry rubbed his head, feeling a headache forming. It was the reason he missed Gabrielle entering the room.

"You okay?"

He peered through his hands. "This Zekānōt business is giving me a bleedin' headache . . . much like the one you gave me, by the way. Why did you have to send the memories of Christmas to my Veela-chicks? They took the mick out of me for a month."

"What makes you think I'd do something like that?" she asked.

Harry dropped his hands into his lap. "Oh, no reason, except that you enjoy it as much as they do."

Gabrielle's face lit up. "That was that the reason for all the threatening letters!"

"As if you didn't know!"

"Honestly! I didn't!" She looked as innocent as an angel, standing next to the fire.

"Right," Harry said. "I've seen that look before, and Fleur already told me it was you."

"Fleur?" It came out in a very impressive growl.

But he didn't get a chance to answer. Mum came back up the stairs with another Veela.

"Sorry I didn't come by to see how you were doing earlier, but I was out-of-town." Susanne kissed him on both cheeks.

"Don't worry about it, when did you get home?" Harry asked.

"Today, I would have waited to visit 'till tomorrow, but Aunt Apolline said that some old dog might come by and wondered if I could take him out for a walk." Her eyes danced with humor, but Harry swore he could see a little hope in there, too.

He went to bed a few minutes later, daydreaming about the possibility that he and Sirius might someday end up as cousins.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Ready?" Sirius asked the next afternoon.

Harry and Fleur held a rope in their hands nodded. Sirius looked back up at the house.

"She already left." Fleur teased. "And Charles has been gone a few hours already, not that you would've noticed or anything. I take it you had fun last night?"

Then something happened that Harry never thought he'd see in his life.

Sirius blushed. "She's an amazing young woman." He cast another longing glance at the house before turning to the two of them. "You have your emergency Portkeys?"

They both nodded.

"And you know how to use them?"

"Fleur's father showed us this morning," Harry said. "We tap the Portkey once and call out either 'home' or 'hospital,' then come crashing through the wards."

"Good. If either of you suspect anything, don't hesitate to use them and get the hell out of there." After getting a nod in affirmation, Sirius touched his wand to the Portkey, then pocketed it and grabbed a hold. Harry felt the normal tug behind his navel and thirteen seconds later, the three of them hit the ground in England. He fell over, dragging Fleur down too.

She pushed herself off him. "You could at least have waited until Sirius left."

Harry gave her a playful swat on her rear when she stood up and asked, "Where are we?"

"This is a safe house for a few werewolf friends of mine." Remus approached and hugged the two of them. "It's good to see you again, Fleur. I'm surprised Harry hasn't driven you to use the Killing Curse on him yet."

She giggled. "It's been tempting a few times."

"Hey!"

The others laughed. "Tonks has been excited to see the two of you ever since Charlie got back," Remus said. "And there's a few others that can't wait to see you tonight as well."

"Neville?" Harry asked.

"No, his group had something come up, but they're sending someone else that you might remember."

"Who?"

Remus smiled. "Nope, and we should get inside rather than presenting a nice target in the middle of an open field.

Harry took Fleur's hand and they followed Sirius and Remus up a hard, rocky incline. "Where are we?"

"Northern England," Sirius answered.

"I can tell that." Harry pulled his cloak around himself. "It feels like it's freezing, are you sure we're not in Scotland?"

Remus looked back over his shoulder. "And here I thought you attended at Durmstrang this year."

"He did," Fleur answered. "You should ask him how the cold affects brass brassieres."

Sirius quirked an eyebrow. "Harry, tell me you didn't buy the leather riding crop for her, too."

Fleur winked at Harry, then laid a hand on Sirius's arm. "There's a lot you don't know about Veela yet, like how we love to brag about our conquests to family. I can't wait to talk to Susanne."

Harry caught a second blush and guffawed.

"What's this?" Remus asked.

"Shut it," Sirius answered. "You should have come across the channel. Gabrielle was in rare form."

They crested the hill before Remus answered, "She reminds me of a witch we all loved back at Hogwarts: smart, full of piss and vinegar, and cute as hell, too."

"That she does," Sirius agreed.

"She married another close friend of ours. A damn shame what Sirius's bint of a cousin did to them."

Harry stopped. "That's, you're talking about Neville's mother?"

"He is," Sirius confirmed. "And talking about it hurts almost as much as talking about what happened to your mum and dad."

They continued in silence across a field and into a small depression. In the middle of it, evergreens hemmed in a large, two-story structure.

"It was abandoned a couple of decades ago," Remus said. "We've put some charms and other spells on it to keep people away. The Order's met here once or twice over the last few months."

Remus pushed open a dilapidated door and let Harry in. The house was old, very old. Every board in the wooden floor was warped or cracked and the ceiling was about ten feet high, held up with thick beams that showed signs of rot. The only nod to the eighteenth century, let alone the twentieth, was a few couches that were strewn about in no discernible pattern. To call the place rustic would be an overstatement, but at least it was warm.

Tonks bounced over and gave Harry a hug, then Fleur. She had a smile that lit up the room. "Charlie and I are official now, and if we get through this war in one piece, we're going to make it permanent."

"Congratulations," Fleur said.

They talked for a few seconds before Harry heard another voice over the din, "Don't tell me that is Harry bloody Potter!"

He turned around. "Oliver?" A rush of memories flooded his thoughts. He made his way across the room to his old Quidditch captain. "Do you know if Katie or—"

"None of them," Oliver answered. "A few of us went to Hogwarts a month after the battle and buried the bodies with the help of the elves. They were all there, Alicia, Katie, and Angelina. I figured you already knew about the twins."

Harry nodded. He'd already surmised they were all dead, but hearing that fact made it hurt all over again. It must have been how Fleur felt when she was told about Madame Maxime. He felt two hands slide over his arms and around his chest from behind.

Fleur's light scent caused him to relax. "Is everything okay?" The French language was soft on her tongue.

"I just learned that three more of my friends died last spring."

"I'm sorry." She kissed him on the cheek, then looked at the man standing in front of Harry, and switched to English. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Oliver's face slackened. "Veela?" he asked when he got control of himself again.

Harry felt Fleur stiffen behind him. "Don't worry, Oliver's one of the good guys."

"What does that mean?" Oliver asked.

"You see Fleur as a person, not as a creature."

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"There are many who can't see passed the Veela to the person," Fleur answered. "And it is their loss. But it seems, this is not so with you."

Oliver gazed at Fleur again, then back at him. "Harry, she's intelligent and beautiful. And somehow, she even has you learning French. Don't be stupid and do something to lose her."

Fleur grinned. "I like 'im!"

The door opened and another group came in. Professor Moody looked as though he had come fresh from a battle with half of the U.K. Behind him was Shacklebolt, looking thinner, even a bit drawn out, but otherwise healthy. A witch entered next. She took two steps and stopped.

"James?" The blood rushed from her face and she blinked. "It can't be . . . Harry? Is that you?"

Professor McGonagall came closer. She lifted a shaking hand and touched his scar before cupping his chin. "You've grown up so much . . ."

"Professor?" Harry wasn't sure what else to say.

"Keep him safe," she said to Fleur, then turned on her heel and walked back across the room. By the time she sat down, the familiar mask was in place, complete with thin, tight drawn lips.

"She's taking this war rather hard," Oliver said. "Madame Bones told me that she blames herself anytime one of her students die. If they sat in her class, she figures there was something she could've done to teach them different."

"That's being rather unfair to herself, isn't it?" Harry asked.

Fleur clucked her tongue. "'Ypocritical, are we?"

He opened his mouth, then stopped for a second before answering. "A bit, I guess."

"You're learning, my love."

The door opened again and three more witches Harry didn't recognize walked in. Then, just before it closed, two wizards pushed it back open.

A curse was on the tip of Harry's tongue and his wand leveled at the wizards before Oliver could react. "They're with us!"

"Bollocks!" He glared across the room. "You're telling me that Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey are fighting against Voldemort?"

Oliver flinched at the name. "That's exactly what I'm telling you. And if you don't want people judging your girlfriend by her heritage, then don't judge them by their house."

"What does this mean, 'by their 'ouse'?" Fleur asked.

"It means," Harry answered, "that they're both members of the same house at Hogwarts that spawned Voldemort and most of the other trash that wanders the countryside in Silver masks and black robes."

Flint came around a couch and stopped in front of Harry. "It wasn't a Slytherin that betrayed your parents, nor was it someone from our house that posed as Mad-eye over there and got you into that graveyard. If you don't like me, Potter, just say it, but don't hide behind house loyalty."

Oliver grabbed Harry by the shoulder and spun him around. "Marcus refused to join the Death Eaters. In return, they hunted down his parents and killed them. When he set out for revenge—turns out it was a couple pillocks by the last name of Carrow—Adrian went with him. Those two are almost as beloved by Death Eaters as you and Neville, now."

Fleur stepped in front of Harry and offered a hand. "I'm sorry to 'ear about your parents." She nodded to Pucey. "It is nice to know that you 'ave such good friends, is it not?"

Harry watched both Slytherin welcome her.

She backed up and wrapped her arms around him again, then whispered in his ear. "A young, avenging wizard, _ma amour_, with no parents; it sounds like someone else I know."

Harry blew out a gust of air in defeat. "Old habits die hard." He offered a hand to Flint. "Sorry, I guess I'm still a little brassed off about our Quidditch matches."

Oliver snorted and Pucey started laughing.

"I don't know why," Flint answered. "You won both." He took Harry's hand in a firm grasp and shook it. "I hear you've been attending Durmstrang."

"From who?"

"Neville." Pucey clasp Harry's hand. "He's the one that generally attends these meetings."

Harry couldn't hide his surprise. "You're working with Neville?"

"Didn't have a choice," Pucey answered. "A week after we killed the Carrows, four Death Eaters surprised us up in Glasgow. There were too many Muggles around so we tried to lead them to a park that should've been deserted, but there was a concert going on—the middle of the bleedin' winter and they have concert in the park. Some things about Muggles I'll never understand."

Harry chuckled.

"We doubled back into an empty alley, but the Death Eaters had reinforcements. We held them off as long as possible, but they finally overpowered us and I thought we were dead. That's when Neville and his group stepped up to the ledges of the surrounding buildings and rained down curses like they were Zeus's hexed off bastard children.

"When it was over, Neville and the others Apparated to the street and extended a hand to us," Pucey said. "As soon as we clasped hands, they side-Apparated us and the next thing I know, Marcus and I are sitting on the floor in some dusty old house with twenty wands pointed in our face.

"A little while later, Neville offered us the opportunity to join them."

"We joined immediately," Flint said. "Well, immediately after we demanded to know how they found us."

"What was his answer?" Harry asked, intrigued by this new incarnation of his friend.

"He looked me straight in the eyes, and without a trace of humor, says, 'Magic.' Then he walked away."

Harry filled the room with laughter. "When did he get so cheeky?"

"Don't know," Oliver answered. "He sure wasn't like that at Hogwarts. Then again, he also wasn't one of the two most feared magical beings by Dark Wizards. The Forbidden Forest is the other."

"The forest next to Hogwarts?" Fleur asked.

"That's the one," Oliver said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "They're winding us up now. Neville, I'll believe, but I've been in that forest every year since I was a firstie. It's not sentient, nor is there anything in there particularly fond of our side."

"That may've been true before the war began," Flint said. "But it's changed. Death Eaters went to claim Hogwarts for themselves after the slaughter. The House-elves fought them and a few escaped into the forest, and disappeared."

Harry shrugged. "Between the Acromantulas, the Centaurs, and whatever other things are in that forest that I haven't ran into yet, it shouldn't be a surprise."

There was a short pause in the conversation while the other three wizards and a Veela-witch gaped at him.

"What?"

Oliver thumped Harry on the shoulder. "Someday, you're going to sit down and tell me in detail about the things you did at that school."

"I'd like to hear it too," Pucey said. "But it wasn't Acromantulas or Centaurs. From what I understand, it's only killing Death Eaters."

"'Ow do you know that?" Fleur asked.

"A few of us have seen it." Flint answered.

"Oh?" Harry cocked his head to the side, looking forward to hearing the tale. They'd have to work a bit harder to get one over him.

"Not me," Flint clarified. "I know Sirius and Remus have. So has Professor McGonagall and Mad-eye. They refuse to talk about it. We've hit a few Death Eaters with Portkeys destined for the place. They never come back."

"Pfft." Harry crossed his arms. "Now I know you're winding me up."

"You don't believe us?" Oliver asked.

"Of course not, it sounds like a few pieces of disparate tales spun into a massive story."

Fleur bit her bottom lip before interrupting. "Um, 'Arry, that's what I thought about your stories, remember?"

He looked at her. "You believe them?"

It was her turn to shrug. "No reason not to. You know the forest before the war began. But so much has changed since then, why not goings-on in the forest, as well?"

"It's possible, I guess."

"Good." Pucey said. "Now that we got that settled, are you going to show us what you learned at Durmstrang, or not?"

"Sure," Harry answered. "Anywhere we can go before the meeting?"

"The back room is warded for spell practice. Let me see how long we have." Oliver stepped over to Remus and asked a question, then nodded. "Is fifteen minutes enough time?"

"Let's find out," Harry said.

The five of them made their way through a dark, unfinished hallway. Oliver twisted the handle of an old door and held it open for everyone. Harry looked around at the spell marks that lined the walls. He shot a light jinx against the back and recognized the flash of light.

Flint gestured to the spot. "The wards are weaker than you're probably used to, so be careful not to cast permanent spells like the Killing Curse. We've had them fail once they get overloaded. Matter of fact"—he conjured three life-sized wizards made of straw—"why don't you show us on these."

Harry replicated a few more targets, conjured a pig and a goat, then conjured large shields in front of two of the targets.

"So . . . what I've learned." He scratched his head. "Let's start with this: when you're spell-casting, think of your magic as a river that flows downhill. Overload it, and it floods everything in sight. Put it through a tunnel at full strength, and it smashes through the target without much regard for what you were intending to do, not to mention backing up on the person that cast it. However, if you can find just the right amount for the task, and then learn to control it—"

His wand twitched and a Bone Crusher hit the pig. It squealed and collapsed in on itself, but not before Harry turned ninety degrees to his left and cast a Stunner at the first target made of straw. He reached out with his magic and bent the spell as it passed to the right of the shield and brought it down into the fake wizard's chest, then spun to his left again and cast at the second guarded target. This time, he reached through the spell and narrowed it to the size of a pinhead. It pierced the board and exploded into the second fake wizard. Harry stepped to the side and cast an Accio Charm that caught the back-pressure and directed it against the goat standing next to the dead pig.

The wave hit the animal and knocked it to the floor, bleating in pain. Another wave of the wand crushed its heart, silencing it. He cast three more curses that looked almost simultaneous, and the last three targets were shredded. Harry stood up straight. "As I was saying, learn to control it and you can do all types of things with your magic."

"That was a right nice little display," Flint complimented. "What was that curse you cast at the goat before you killed it?"

"Nothing."

Pucey and Flint looked at each other. "I thought we were passed this," Pucey began. "If you don't want to tell—"

"No, it's not that," Harry argued. "I literally didn't cast a curse."

Oliver chuckled. "Look, we weren't winding you up about the Forbidden Forest—"

"And I'm not taking the mick out of you now," Harry answered. "What you saw was me casting an Accio Charm on the rebounding curse, then directing the back-pressure wave."

"That's . . . how the bloody hell did you learn to do that?" Pucey asked.

Fleur took Harry's hand in hers. "'E didn't. In the middle of a practice duel he came up with it, how do you say, 'on the fly,' yes?"

"Yeah," Flint answered. "Harry, I hope your stamina is as good as your wand, because you're about to show us every spell you learned in the next ten minutes."

"That's not a problem for him." Fleur called on just a touch of her Veela heritage and dipped her chin, her eyes burned with lust. "'Arry has great stamina."

The three wizards looked at Harry, gobsmacked, and he blushed bright red.

Fleur laughed. "This memory is so going in a Pensieve and up to Durmstrang."

Harry shook his head. "Aside from the wicked ways of the Veela, let me show you a few other things." He displayed a number of spells and a few of the easier wards over the next few minutes. After finishing a ward to keep wizards out of a protected circle, he asked, "Did anyone ever find out how the Death Eaters got into Hogwarts?"

Pucey looked at him. "You don't know?"

"No, no one's told me anything."

Flint pocketed his wand. "He's going to love this."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Malfoy," Pucey answered. "That little ponce and his two wand-buddies left the stadium a few minutes after the third task began. From what's been pieced together, they threw the gates open and let in a group of Death Eaters, who, in turn, brought down the wards from the inside."

"Draco Malfoy," Harry said. "He's a marked Death Eater, isn't he?"

"Sure is," Flint answered. "He's one of the ones that tried to talk me into joining."

"I hope you won't miss him."

Pucey let out a short bark of laughter. "Good riddance is more like it."

Harry looked back and forth between the former Slytherin students. "Here I believed you were all one happy lot. Were we that blinded by our houses?"

"To a point," Flint said. "I admit it got out of hand a few times, but what else is there except cheering for your house nine months out of the year?"

Pucey snorted. "But murdering a stadium full of people ends any notion of house loyalty, as far as I'm concerned."

"Damn right," Flint agreed.

Harry was about to say something when he heard a squelch zip up the valley. "Anti-Apparition wards? I thought they were already in place—"

"They were!" Oliver cut him off.

Flint pressed himself against the back wall and peered through the crack between the curtain and the window frame. "Something's moving in the shadows of the forest"

Before anyone could answer, Sirius crashed through the door. "Harry, Fleur, Portkeys now!"

Harry drew his wand and tapped the shoestring, then said "home," but nothing happened.

"Portkey wards?" Sirius stopped and thought for a second. "That means they've known about this place for the better part of the day."

"But we used a Portkey to come 'ere," Fleur said. "They can't ward it in just one direction, can they?"

"They can," Sirius answered. "'Easy in, but not easy out.'"

"'Said the lobster to the lobster pot.'" Pucey finished.

Sirius gave him a look.

"Mum was a Muggle English teacher. I ended up in Slytherin due to my cunning, not my blood-status." He gestured beyond the walls. "What are we going to do about the Death Eaters?"

The answer came in the form of dozens of curses that hit the outside wall. Wood and brick collapsed inward.

Harry's wand was already in motion and a stone shield blossomed before them. He cast a holding charm on his left hand, put a blasting spell on it, and then thrust it forward, followed immediately with his right. "_Lapis-lancea!"_

The shield exploded outward, and the shards of rock transfigured into miniature stone lances. Screams and bodies hitting the floor covered Sirius's command to retreat to the main room.

Harry took a step back toward the door when the first outlines of Death Eaters appeared in the dust. A plethora of curses streaked out from either side of him. Pucey, to his right, cast every curse he probably knew and Flint stood just behind him, using shields, transfigurations, and summoning charms to protect the both of them.

Harry felt a hand on his back even as he cast his next spell. Fleur's wand came up next to his face and the dead pig shot into the air, intercepting a killing curse aimed at him.

A tornadic wind ripped through the room, pelting them with the rubble from the wall. Fleur cast a shield and Harry sent three conjured vipers over it, back in the general direction of the attack. He reached out with his magic and directed them at their targets.

More Death Eaters poured into the other side of the room and Harry felt Fleur tugging on his robes, even as she cast two nasty cutting curses. "Back to the main room!"

He started backing up when Sirius came back through of the doorway. "They're coming in from all sides. We need to make our stand here!"

"Where's Oliver?" Harry asked.

"Defending on the other side of the house."

A spell shot between them. Sirius stepped to the side, then waved his wand. Pieces of the wall ripped away, and hurtled toward the attackers. A counterclockwise twist and a jolt downward unleashed a powerful blast against the floor, and another flick of the wrist sent that out against them as well.

Harry and Pucey reengaged, mixing weak stunners with cutting and blasting spells. Flint cast an Obscuration Charm that filled the space between them with smoke, and they split, Harry and Fleur to their left, Pucey and Flint to their right.

Sirius stayed in the center. His wand went back up in the air and five balls of red light the size of Bludgers appeared over him.

Flint slashed his wand and the Obscuration Charm disappeared, then Sirius threw his hands forward.

Harry covered his ears to protect them from the shrieking orbs that shot out of the room. They broke up into a thousand angry red dots before driving through the next two waves of Death Eaters that were making their way into the building and turning them into sieves.

Harry watched the bodies drop, then met Sirius's eyes. It took half a second for Harry to realize what was his godfather was wrestling with, and yelled out to him, "The lesser evil is the greater good. If you know how, do it, or we're all going to die!"

Sirius closed his eyes, took a breath, and then gave in and cast the spell. Mangled, grisly Death Eater corpses reanimated and Sirius sent them back out against the attackers.

Remus ran into the room. "They're still coming back there."

"Here too," Sirius answered.

Harry caught a glimpse of a group of Death Eaters standing behind everyone else, and pushed three Killing Curses out through the massive hole in the wall. The green curses streaked across the field, but were blocked at the last second by rocks summoned from the nearby forest floor.

The chance was too much however, and a violet curse with brown wisps snuck under Fleur's defenses, striking Harry in the chest. He stumbled back and caught himself against the wall.

"Harry!" Fleur stepped in front of him and her wand became a blur. Curse after curse rocketed across the room. She managed to drop three more Death Eaters, a plethora of spells, most green or black, shot back at them. She conjured a large brick wall at the last moment. The spells crashed against it and sharp pieces of brick sliced through their exposed flesh. Harry checked to make sure it was all superficial. Fleur yanked up his shirt to see where the other spell hit, but he pushed her hands away.

"You can strip me later, now _Expulso_ the wall!"

"I plan on it." She smirked despite the battle, then sent a Blasting Spell into the brick. He thrust his hands out again, and sent the pieces hurtling at the Death Eaters, but this time they were waiting. Three of them threw Banishing Charms into the room, driving the debris at the other four.

Flint shielded Pucey again, and Sirius and Remus threw up their own shields. Six Killing Curses followed the Banishing Charms, all cast at Sirius. He managed to conjure half a cow to take two of the curses, and Remus banished broken chunks of plaster and wood into the path to stop two more, but the fifth and sixth curse lit him up in a bright green aura. He fell to the floor, eyes wide open and unblinking. His wand bounced across the room and came to rest at Harry's feet.

Remus shouted and sprinted to Sirius, ignoring the curses that sailed past his head. He knelt just before a transfigured piece of crystal appeared in the room. A blasting curse hit it and drove the crystal shards through the werewolf's body.

He slumped over on the other side of Sirius.

Harry's world almost came to a stop, literally. Curses, spells, and hexes of various colors crawled through the air. The remaining pieces of crystal continued their leisurely journey before coming to rest on the floor. Remus's body was still dancing with the impact of curses.

Harry turned back to the murderers outside, filled his lungs with air, screamed, "Come, and die you bastards!"

He didn't bother to aim, instead reaching through the curses and bending them left and right, up and down. He brought a Killing Curse up over a mound of dirt and drove it into the Death Eater standing a few feet behind it; drove a Cutting Curse around a tree, dismembering the legs from a second Death Eater; then pushed another one straight through a conjured shield Charm, taking the back-pressure square in his chest.

Another wave of Death Eaters stepped forward and Harry dug into his darker repertoire. Back-Breakers, Heart Crushers, and a liquefying spell all found their targets. Then he twisted his wand and brought it back in a sharp upward motion. "_Comedunt-Corpus-Intro_!"

A bluish spell ripped through the space and struck the next victim. He kept coming for a second, then stopped, looked down at his body, and screamed as his organs came alive and devoured him before turning on each other. Harry winced when he saw the man's heart chomp down on the stomach, popping it like a balloon.

Fleur crossed the room to protect Remus, and Harry stepped forward to do the same for her. A curse shot into the room and he brought his shield up. It bounced off and nicked Fleur, sending her sprawling across the floor at the same time a green curse lit up Remus.

Fleur pushed herself up to her hands and knees and crawled the last few feet, gritting her teeth in pain.

Flint and Pucey parted from each other and came up on either side of Harry. Both of their wands gamboled in the setting sun that now filtered through the ever-growing opening in the wall. A curse from each wand blazed out.

Harry recognized the Dragon's Curse, and watched dual tongues of flame roar from their wands, engulfing two more Death Eaters. Their screams were drowned by the unmistakable sound of wards coming down.

"Go!" Harry shouted.

"You first!" Drops of sweat dripped off Flint's nose from the heat of the spell. "Get your girlfriend and activate the Portkey, we'll Apparate away as soon as you're gone!"

He nodded and ran to her, but before he could get there, he heard Flint shout a warning, then his world turned upside down. At least four different colors of curses filled his vision before everything went black.

He opened his eyes to find himself lying on the ground. The sounds Apparition cracked across the valley floor as Death Eaters, he assumed, disappeared. Familiar voices, including Flint's and Pucey's made their way to him and Stray curses were still hitting the upper part of the walls and what was left of the ceiling. The rest of which, he realized, had buried him and Fleur.

He climbed out and crawled across the rubble. "Fleur? Where are you?"

She should be right about here, he told himself. Sirius had fallen here and then Remus, there. Harry levitated part of the ceiling off a pile and threw it across the room, but he didn't see anything there.

A few feet more he levitated more debris and cast it aside. He caught sight of a little tuft of bloodied blond hair sticking out from under a large piece of the ceiling joist. He pushed the wallboard that was attached to it to the side to expose all three of them.

"Fleur, open your eyes. Talk to me!"

Blood trailed from a corner of her mouth and both nostrils. There was no other movement.

"No! Please, God no!" He snatched the Portkey out of his pocket and hit it with his wand, then pressed it against Fleur's body. Without really knowing why, he tossed other end of the rope across Sirius's body and made sure it touched Remus.

"Hospital!"

The familiar sensation yanked him out of Britain. His feet hit the floor in a sparse room that stunk of cleaning potions and antiseptic. The two dead bodies hit the floor with a dull thump.

Harry eased Fleur down, then stood up to get help, but a tiny witch that couldn't have been more than five feet tall already stepped around the corner. "What the—"

Harry pointed to Fleur. "She was cursed—dark magic, just before a ceiling collapsed on us."

"And those two?"

"Killing Curses."

"Move aside." She crossed the room and dropped to her knees in front of Fleur. "Where did this happen?"

"Can't tell you." He watched the Healer cast a number of spells, one or two of which Harry recognized as diagnostic charms. "But we were fighting Death Eaters."

The nurse's eyes widened and a string of vulgarities followed. "This is an Emergency Portkey entrance for Aurors, what the _hell _is going on? How did you get those Portkeys?"

"You'll have to ask her father, Mr. Delacour.

"As in Jacque Delacour?"

"That's him, he—" The results of the diagnostic spell cut him off.

The Healer took the parchment that appeared in a puff of smoke over Fleur and looked it over. "Dear God!" She waved her wand in two quick swipes and a nondescript voice blared across the hospital wing.

"Code Black, EPR three!"

The healer turned to Harry. "Get back against that wall and stay there!"

Harry obeyed without question.

The Healer cast a charm and Fleur's clothes disappeared. She hit Fleur with a cutting curse, and opened a wound on the inside of Fleur's upper thigh by another three inches. Then she reached in, pulled the muscle back, and pinched off the severed artery that lay underneath.

Harry vomited.

Three _Cracks _of Apparition bounced off the walls, and despite emptying his stomach, Harry's wand was up and aimed for the closest person before the echo died.

"Stay that wand!" The witch working on Fleur screamed, "They're healers!"

A tall, dark complected wizard glanced at Harry, then knelt next to the smaller witch. "Talk to me, Leanna."

She nodded at Sirius and Remus. "They're dead—Killing Curse, and this one's not far behind: massive curse injuries, and internal crush damage, rampant internal bleeding, and that doesn't include the severed femoral artery I'm pinching off. Both lungs are punctured and her magical core has turned against her."

A middle-aged Healer with a paunch took one look at where she had her hand. "Why aren't you using the _Extrueret vas_ protocols?"

"They were battling Death Eaters," she answered.

"Damn, the wrong Healing Spell . . ."

"Will cause systemic shutdown," she finished for him. "Exactly."

The middle-aged Healer dropped down to the floor and inspected every inch of Fleur's body, waving his wand two and three times over it to pick up curse signatures.

A third Healer that had Apparated in turned to the side and said something. A House-elf popped in and the Healer gave it instructions, then it popped back out.

Leanna waited until the tall, dark-haired wizard finished reading the report. "Domenico, take lead." She nodded at the paunchy Healer. "Greg can back you up; I can't do anything until we can get _Vulgaire _clamps to stem the blood flow. You're better with crush injuries, anyway."

"Got, it. I'm taking lead," Domenico announced.

The Healer with the paunch finished his scan and stood up. "In that case, I've got surgery prep; there are too many spell signatures to pass it off to someone else."

Domenico nodded, and then Greg Disapparated.

At the same time Leanna was speaking, the House-elf popped back in with a tray full of potions, bags, and other assorted items.

The last Healer took the tray and set it down next to Fleur. He picked up a needle with a tube attached and shoved into Fleur's arm, on the other end was a large bag with "Blood Replenishment Potion" written across the top. He levitated it a few feet above her and piggybacked three inverted vials of potions into the line. "I'm done!"

"Get her to surgery!" Domenico stood. "And remind the prep Healers, no spells, and very little magic unless Greg approves. I'll be there ninety-seconds after you."

The third Healer conjured a flat board under Fleur. Healer Leanna jumped on it, her hand still inside Fleur's leg. A levitation spell later and the third Healer rushed them down the hall, and around the corner.

And just like that, Harry was alone with Sirius and Remus. He looked down at his own hands, covered in Fleur's blood. He fell to the floor and wretched a second time. Then a sharp pain tore through his head and he ground his teeth together against the torture of the Horcrux.

A middle-aged female Healer stepped into the room. "Come, we're getting you looked at as well."

"I'll be fine," he said through gritted teeth.

"Like hell," The Healer began.

Harry waved her off. "There's nothing you can do for this. It's not a spell. Where did they take Fleur?"

"She's in an Emergency Operating Station. Look, I know you want to be with her, but we need to check you out for curse damage as well. Not all curses from Death Eaters are immediate."

"How . . . how do you know that?" he managed, and took another breath. The another wave of pain hit him and he squeezed his fists, his knuckles turning white. He could feel blood pumping out of his scar again.

"Most of the Healers in the Auror Emergency Entrance department were here during the first war. We've seen it all."

Harry nodded, then closed his eyes. "Is Fleur . . . ?"

The Healer put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "She's in a very bad way, but she's also in the best hands you could ask for. We won't know anything for at least another half hour.

"And I don't care what you say, blood pouring out of a scar is not natural. Let's get you checked out, then you can go wait with the family."

"Blimey, I forgot! I needed to get to a Floo and let them know!"

The Healer shook her head. "When activated, Auror Portkeys alert the Ministry who gets in contact with the family. They're probably already on their way."

Harry let his eyes drop to his godfather, lying on the floor a few feet from him. "Can you give me a few seconds to say goodbye?"

"Sure," the Healer answered. "But just a few seconds. I want you examined soon."

Harry waited until the Healer stepped out, then pulled the sheets down that a House-elf had draped over Sirius and Remus. His head still pounded, but he didn't care at this point. "You're not going to like how I do it, but I'm going to end this war, that I promise."

He placed his hand on Sirius's chest and was surprised to find his ring there on a gold chain. He undid the latch, removed the chain, and took the ring, then did the same with the ring he found around Remus's neck and held all three in his hand.

"Every last one of those bastards will die. You won't like my methods, but I swear on my life, it will be done." He lowered his head and fought back the emotions that raged just under the surface. The Horcrux however, felt appeased for some reason. So be it, he thought to himself, and let the tears run down his cheeks.

"'Arry?"

He looked up to find Paige and Susanne standing in the doorway. Susanne's face lost color. "What . . . how . . ." She made her way toward the body, knelt, and traced her fingers across his face. She closed her eyes and her bottom lip trembled in time with her hands.

"I would've loved you, Sirius Black. I would've given my heart to you when you asked for it." She leaned down and kissed him. "I hope you have found your peace."

Susanne covered Sirius back up with the sheet, took a deep breath, and wiped at her eyes, then looked at Harry and palmed his cheek. He fell against her and she wrapped him in her arms.

"Come, let's see about Fleur," she said a moment later.

The Healer stepped back into the room. "Sorry, but he has an appointment with me."

Harry didn't have the strength to argue anymore.

Paige took one look at him and somehow understood. "I'll go with you. Susanne can go tell Fleur's parents that you're here and being looked at."

He suspected that she was giving Susanne a few moments alone to say goodbye to Sirius, so he got up and followed the healer out of the room. He wasn't even surprised when Paige reached over and took his hand. They walked to another room that had a bed centered in it. The Healer handed him off to another middle-aged, slightly plump witch whose first word to Harry was, "Strip."

"Maybe I should wait outside," Paige suggested.

Harry nodded. The door closed and he was alone again. His strength vanished and he collapsed against the bed. The reality of what just happened crashed in on him and names of the dead flashed through his mind.

"It's okay, calm down," the Healer said. She levitated him onto the mattress.

Harry didn't notice. The memories of Fleur getting hit by the curse, the way she looked when he found her under the rubble, and the nurse digging through her leg chased each other in his head, as did the list of injuries and problems: crush damage, internal bleeding, multiple spell signatures, her magic fighting against—" He gasped for breath, but his lungs refused to fill with oxygen. A weight sat on his chest, pressing the wind out of him.

"What the hell? Stay with me!" the Healer said. "More help will be here in a second." Her wand flashed back and forth across Harry and names of spells used against him dancing in the air. She gasped as the list grew.

Harry didn't remember being hit that many times, but it didn't matter, not when Sirius and Remus were gone, possibly even Fleur . . . and if he lost her, he was damned. Maybe that was for the best, though. If she was gone, he'd have no reason to want to cheat death. It'd make everything so much simpler. Of course, he could just close his eyes now and fall asleep, never to open them again. That's be even easier

"I can't find anything!" an angry voice said.

"Then look harder!" another one answered.

"I'm running every charm in the Protocols, and even some that aren't!"

"Then let me take a look!" Numerous loud, popping noises interrupted anymore talking. A few seconds later however, a voiced yelled out, "Found it!" Quickly followed by, "What the . . . it's going to take all of us to counter this curse!"

And why not? he asked himself. Why couldn't he fall asleep forever? What would be so wrong with that? So many that he loved were already gone.

"Ready, cast . . . No, get over here! That's it. All of your wands need to be right up against his body. This isn't a normal Countering Spell!"

Nothing, really, except that Voldemort and the Death Eaters would have won, and he wouldn't be able to call in the blood debts. But just how important was that, really?

"It was too much for him, he's fading! Clear away! I'm hitting him with a Stinger."

Are you willing to give them up? A deeper, sinister sounding voice asked him. Harry listened, seeking its source, and was surprised that it wasn't the Horcrux. It was his own soul, without remorse or compunction for mercy; his own voice, so foreign and yet, so recognizable. And then he knew. This was the point that he was headed toward his entire life. To this place of vengeance, this dark nightmare, and Fleur was the only person that could keep him away from it.

If she lived.

"Again!" Harry's body cleared the table by three inches.

That was the only variable left, but it was enough to keep him tethered here for now. If she lived, then he had to live. If she was dead, then he'd cut a swath through Magical Britain a mile wide and a foot deep in blood.

"Again!" His body jerked up.

"Vengeance!" the Horcrux raged within him.

"Again!" Another shock ripped through him.

"And Death!" his own soul echoed.

"One more time!" someone yelled.

Harry opened his eyes enough to see a wand leveled at him. "No!" he flung his arms out and pushed with all his magic. The Healers stumbled back, crashing into the walls. Harry glared across the room. "Level that wand at me again and I will kill you. Get out of my room."

"We were losing you," the Healer said by way of apology. "It's not normal medicine by any means, but at least it worked."

Harry turned to the witch. "Am I okay to leave?"

"You most certainly are not, not after what you just went though. Now relax.

Harry thought about cursing them all, but figured that'd just cause more problems, so he obeyed. All but two Healers left the room over the next couple of minutes.

Harry relaxed watched as sheets of parchment appeared over his body every thirty seconds. The plump Healer he had started with in this room plucked the latest one out of the air and clucked her tongue. "Two and a half minutes ago, you were unresponsive, and now . . . this is impossible, even for magic."

"Does that mean I can go? My girlfriend might be lying in a bed somewhere in this hospital dying. I need to be with her."

The Healer read the parchment again, then offered it to the other one that had remained behind. Harry realized for the first time that she looked to be in her late twenties and was quite pretty, and he was still lying on the table, starkers.

"At least let me cover up."

The older witch chuckled and handed Harry's clothes back to him while the younger Healer read the report. "Amazing, I've never seen anyone recover so fast. It's almost as if he just lost the will to live, then regained it."

"Nice bedside manner," Harry said.

She flushed from the rebuke. "You're right, I'm sorry. According to the report, as Geraldine said, it seems almost impossible that you've recovered so quickly, even by magical standards." She shook her head. "There's nothing here now that indicates we need to keep you. Just take it easy the next day or two, and take these." She handed over a few vials.

He sniffed them and turned his nose up, already knowing what they were before she told him. He'd had enough Replenishment Potions over the last few months.

"There's a beautiful witch waiting for you outside," the younger Healer said.

"Veela," Harry corrected.

"What was that?"

"She's not just a witch, she's Veela."

"Oh, that's something different. We almost never get Veela in here, patients or visitors."

He finished dressing, wondering why she felt the need to tell him that, then walked out of the room and straight into a frightened Paige.

"Harry!" She threw her arms around him and hugged him. "The way Healers were Apparating into to your room, I thought you were going to die."

"I'll be okay," he said.

"Please don't say that."

Harry shrugged. "I'm always okay."

Paige pushed him against a wall and held him there with her own body, her nose almost touching his. It would have been too intimate to be innocent had the anger that burned behind her eyes not been there. "I don't want to hear, 'I'll be okay,' just a couple of minutes after I hear 'We're losing him,' and Healers popping in so fast it sounded like Apparition school."

She stepped back half a step. "Fleur warned me about you and your 'I'm okay' shit. Let's get one thing straight, I am not Fleur, so I have no problem hexing you, cursing you, hitting you with my Veela magic, and even driving you to your knees with lust if you dare lie to me about how you are doing. Is that understood!"

"She warned you?"

Paige glared at him. "Yes, over Christmas. She asked me to keep an eye on you if anything happened to her."

Harry opened his mouth, and then realized that he was doing the same thing he did last summer. Only now, he was hurting someone else that cared about him and through her, Fleur.

"Sorry," he said. "I was hit by a curse that seemed to take longer to activate than I thought possible. Luckily, I was in with a bunch of Healers who caught it in time." It wasn't the full truth, but it was close enough to soothe his conscience. "Can we go see how Fleur's doing now?"

Paige watched him a second longer. Her features softened and she pecked him on the cheek. "Thank you. A Healer's assistant told me they were this way."

They made their way through three long, narrow corridors, around a corner, then through another corridor. Five minutes later, they turned the last corner and Harry saw the Delacour family crying on each other's shoulders. Harry's stomach flipped and a metallic taste grew in the back of this mouth. He dropped Paige's hand.

A movement caught his eye and he looked into Fleur's room. An attendant pulled the sheet up over her head and then stepped out.

"I'm sorry," he said.

The words turned into empty, meaningless sounds, and even those faded. He could see people crying, mouths moved and words formed, but he heard nothing.

Air escaped his lungs as something struck his chest. He took a breath, and it was forced out once more. He looked down to find two slender fists hammering against him. The owner was yelling something, screaming at him, but he had no idea what she was saying.

Gabrielle collapsed against him and he caught her. Mr. Delacour appeared and gently pulled her away, then held the young Veela while she wailed over her dead sister.

Harry looked past them to see mum collapsed in a chair on the other side of the room, and her own two sisters tending to her. All around, Veela cousins were crying. Slowly, he began to hear the haunting sounds of devastated beauty.

The he realized that someone was talking to him. ". . . You're not to blame." Mr. Delacour said.

He dropped his eyes to Gabrielle. "It doesn't matter anymore. If I don't face him, this'll just keep happening."

The older wizard nodded. "Give me a week to put my house in order, then I will fulfill my promise to go with you."

"No." Harry looked at mum again, then Gabrielle, and back to him. "Take care of them."

He put his lips against Gabrielle's forehead, but she pushed him away, not bothering to look up. He turned on his heel and made his way through the doors.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Gabrielle buried her face in her papa's chest. A small part of her brain registered what she had just done to her big brother, but she'd apologize later. Right now, it was more important to remember how to breathe through the sobs.

She just about had it under control when more cousins poured into the room. Maman tried to explain what happened, but she broke down in tears again, sending Gabrielle back over the edge. Paige and Danielle dragged her to the couch and made her sit down between them.

Grandma walked in a few minutes later, with Anastasie, Maryse, and another woman who had to have been a full Veela. Grandma went right to Maman, shooed the sisters away and enveloped her daughter in her arms.

Anastasie stood next to Papa. "We were in the middle of a meeting and came as soon as we heard. How is she?"

Jacque shook his head. "She passed about five minutes ago."

The new arrivals looked at each other, and then back at Jacque. "Be quick and tell me exactly what happened." Anastasie ordered.

"They took a Portkey with Sirius to a meeting. That's all we know."

"That's not what I meant." Anastasie faced the room. "What Healer called Fleur's death?"

When no one spoke up, she barked out, "Answer the question!"

Every partial Veela inclined her head, offering submission to the Flock Leader. It was a new experience for Gabrielle, and it pissed her right off. Why was Anastasie playing Pecking Order games now?

Maryse grabbed the Flock Leader's arm. "They're mourning, and—"

"Release me!"

Her magic pounded Maryse to the floor. Gabrielle felt the edges of it and squeaked, pushing herself further up on the couch.

"Now answer the damn question!"

"The attending Healer," Maman said. "Why?"

The unknown Veela took Maman by the elbow. "Did you see the diagnostic Charms?"

Maman shook her head, but Gabrielle answered, "I . . . I did. They were all the normal ones, including a spell to check her condition. I got used to seeing them last fall when 'Arry . . ."

A lump lodged in her throat at the sudden realization that he was no longer in the room. "'Arry! He's headed back to England, we gotta stop him!"

She jumped off the couch and took two steps toward the door before she was scooped up by her father. "Let him go."

"No!" She managed to wiggle out of his arms, but Anastasie's full attention fell on her.

"We don't have time for this, now SIT!" Anastasie said.

Gabrielle went down hard under the Flock Leaders magic. She could smell the urine as it soaked her jeans.

"That's my daughter, you bitch!" Maman said.

"Enough! I said we do _not _have time for this!" Every witch with Veela blood who was not a Flock Leader was now on her knees. Anastasie turned to the unknown Veela. "Get that Healer, Petra."

Gabrielle surreptitiously waved her wand over her lower waist, but she still saw Petra's eyes flit over to Fleur's body, then she rushed across the room and pushed open the door. "I need the attending Healer in here, now!"

"What's going on?" Maman asked.

"Something's not right," Anastasie answered.

A tall, dark Healer shot back through the door. "What's the problem?

"Did you call Mademoiselle Delacour's death?" Petra asked.

"I did, why?"

"And you used the normal diagnostics, right?" she asked.

"Of course," the Healer answered. "Why?"

"Because she's Veela, you idiot!"

"What does—" He blanched. "_La strega sia dannato_!"* He drew his wand and cast a charm. Alarms pierced across the entire wing of the hospital.

Four Healers Apparated into Fleur's room, the _cracks_ echoed in the family waiting area. The first one waved a wand and a sheet disappeared from Fleur's battered corpse, clamps sticking out of her leg.

The Healer turned on the spot and reappeared inside the room. He yelled orders at them and three of the Healers disappeared, then twice as many reappeared a few seconds later, carrying a vast assortment of instruments.

"Maman, what's going on?" Gabrielle asked.

Maman shook her head, eyes wide in disbelief. "I don't know, Anastasie?"

Gabrielle heard the sliver of hope that crept into her mother's voice, and she caught her breath, just before the curtain in the emergency operating room was pulled shut.

Anastasie took a step back and leaned against a wall. "I don't like doing that to any of you, I'm sorry, especially to you, Gabrielle."

"Maybe you should tell them what's going on?" Grandma suggested, then seemed to take pity on the Flock Leader. "Or, do you want me to."

Anastasie nodded and Grandma passed Maman off to her sisters, then came across the room and took Gabrielle by the hand and led her back to the couch.

"Grandma?"

Grandma brushed Gabrielle's hair back. "My last granddaughter has finished her transformation." She gave a little sigh and continued. "Veela are very similar to humans, it's why we can mate with them, and in reality, we are all half human, half Veela."

"Not you," Gabrielle noted.

"Even I am," Grandma corrected her. "Don't confuse being a 'half Veela' on account of the Zekānōt not seeing further than their beaks with the fact that we all are biologically half Veela, half human. Our magic weaves the two natures together and discards whatever is superfluous, but it reapportions other parts of both natures. Have you ever heard of _Torpor_?" she asked.

Gabrielle shook her head.

"Ah, well, it is something that affects a number of species of birds, among other animals. At different times, their heart rate slows down, their temperature drops, and their metabolism decreases. Whenever our race came about, torpor was no longer necessary since humans are able to forage for food in almost all situations. So it changed."

The dark-haired Healer opened the curtain again and Gabrielle looked in to see a swarm of other Healers now huddling over her sister.

A quick turn and the Healer was on this side of the wall. He seemed to catch the mood of the room. "We still don't know."

Gabrielle was ready to explode. Her foot smacked down on the floor. "Enough with the Veela-lessons! What's happening to my sister?"

The Healer walked over to her.

"This is the first time she's learning about Torpor," Grandma said.

"Ah." He kneeled down in front of her. "If a Veela is severely injured, her magic will kick her into Torpor, except that in Veela, it almost stops the heart. Her magic then takes over and helps push the blood through the body, with just enough going out to the wounded areas to keep them alive. It slows down healing, but it's better than bleeding out.

"The problem however, is that we get so few Veela in here that we didn't even think to check. Instead, we followed normal protocols for a patient's status, which are based on heart rate, breathing, and temperature loss. In short, our Healer got a false reading."

Gabrielle's eyes grew to twice their normal size. "Fleur's still alive?"

The Healer gestured back to the room. "They don't put that much effort into a dead person, no matter how beautiful she is."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry felt Gabrielle's hot tears still on his cheek and his skin burned where she pushed him away. He walked through the door of the hospital and cleared the wards at a dead run, not even bothering to stop when he Apparated back to the Delacour home. With little more than a few wand waves, he managed to pack the books and clothes he needed in his trunk, then spun about to walk back out of his room.

Next to the door, however, was a picture of Fleur and him taken Christmas day. He watched it, taking in the happiness of the scene, and the room began to vibrate. Harry reached out and touched the image of Fleur that was whispering something into the ear of Harry's image, making him blush. She backed up and gave him one of those little looks that made Harry's heart thump.

He realized that he'd never see her do that again.

The room exploded. Glass, ceramic, even the table in front of him shattered, sending broken splinters through the walls, and ceiling.

Harry forced himself to put one foot in front of the other out the basement, then slammed the door shut and walked back to the Apparition point. Halfway there, Hedwig soared down from the Owlery.

He held out an arm for her and she seemed to have sensed his mood, landing softly and nipped him on the ear.

"She's dead, girl. They got Fleur."

Hedwig spread her wings let out a low-mourning sound, then fluttered up to Harry's shoulder.

"Thanks, but you can't come with me." Harry held his arm to her again and she stepped off his shoulder and back onto it. "I have something I need to do, and chances are I won't be coming back. I want you to stay here with Gabrielle and take care of her. She's yours now, make sure she stays safe."

Hedwig hooted an indignant response and pecked Harry hard on the nose.

"It's not hard to trace a snowy white owl, and I don't want to think about what they'd do to you. That's why you can't come, and why you can't deliver mail to me, either."

He took out his wand and conjured a piece of parchment and a writing utensil. "I need you to deliver one last thing for me, though."

He finished the note and tied it to her leg. "Wait until she comes home. It's a letter telling her that I've left her to you."

Hedwig let out a low hoot.

"I love you too. I'm sorry I have to leave, but please, take care of my Gabby."

The owl gave Harry a much softer nip on the ear before flying off toward the house. He watched her circle once and look back at him, then fly through Gabrielle's window.

He turned back and looked up at the mountains to the West of the Delacour home, and turned. The difference in temperature was startling, but from this high up, he could see for miles. He Apparated again to a spot he could see far in the distance and then two more times after that before he was standing in snow-capped mountains on the border between France and Spain. Five hours later and a number of Locating Charms, he stepped into an abandoned cabin, wrapped his heavy Durmstrang cloak around himself, and fell asleep.

He woke up early the next morning and looked around the cabin. He found a dirty old towel and transfigured it into a dirty old mattress. He placed it against the wall, next to the one table, and then set the wards. Finished, he wandered out into the surrounding area. About a mile north, he found a road and followed it into a small town where he bought groceries, thankful for the trip to Gringotts a few weeks ago.

After lunch, Harry pulled out his potions kit and set it up, then opened up _A Dark Journey to Power_ and re-read the story that had given him chills earlier in the term. The ingredients were simple enough that any student would have them in his potion kit. Once the cauldron was set up and brewing, he took on the harder part and prepared for the ritual. With luck, he'd last more than a few hours before going insane. Then again, this wasn't really stealing someone else's magic.

Voldemort gave it to him freely, sort of. And if Harry had to have the damn Horcrux in his head, then he might as well use it. One thing he knew for sure, if the story in the book was accurate, then whatever magical ability was in the Horcrux, would be his . . . as long as his changes worked.

When all the preparations were finished, Harry took off his shirt, transformed a rock into a small knife, and carved a figure into his chest over his heart. He let the blood on the knife drip into the potion. The first drop hissed and danced on the liquid in the cauldron. The second calmed it down and the third turned the green liquid amber.

Next, he wiped off some of dried blood that had leaked from his scar last night and dropped a few flakes into the cauldron. The potion turned green again, the blood danced, and then back to amber.

It was ready.

He turned the wand on himself and cast the first spell at the figure on his chest, and didn't feel a thing. The second and third spells followed to the same effect. He thought back to the story, and wondered how foolish he was for thinking that he could rearrange a blood/possession ritual in this way. Then again, the entire story may have been exaggerated, just like his Uncle used to do with his golfing stories.

He snorted at the thought, and wondered what would happen if he showed up at the house now, able to do whatever magic he wanted, not to mention defending himself without his wand. It wouldn't be worth it, he realized. Not them, even with everything they did to him, it paled in comparison to what he owed others.

He cast the same series of spells at his scar, then laid his wand on the table and ladled the potion into a vial. He took a deep breath, tilted his head back, and slammed it back, then gritted his teeth for what was to come.

But nothing happened. He waited, thinking back through the story. He couldn't kill the Horcrux as the one wizard did the other, that'd defeat the entire purpose. He couldn't possess the Horcrux, either. But he wasn't even at that point yet. No, those were issues that he'd deal with after the potion and spells took effect.

Something else had to be wrong. Did the wizard drink the potion before or after casting the curses? He was sure it was after, but it never hurt to check. He reached for the book, and didn't make it.

A fire ripped up his spinal column and he hit the floor, already in the throes of a brutal seizure. His body bounced across the rough stone. With the last vestige of control over his limbs, he tried to direct himself toward the mattress.

Then the Horcrux woke up and attacked him for what he was attempting. Harry dug his fingers into his scar, trying to rip out the source of the nut-shriveling pain.

The figure he had carved on his chest flashed and the smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils about the same time his brain registered what was happening. He reached in front of him, grabbed the mattress, and yanked, ripping parts of the fabric away, denying him anything outside of himself to grab on too.

A second fire ripped back down his spinal column and he arched involuntarily, his back high off the ground. With his last lucid thought, he thanked Merlin that he cast a Silencing Charm on the shack, then his eyes rolled up into his head, the pain redoubled again, and he screamed his way into the black abyss that waited for him.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Two days later, Jacque Delacour sat at his desk in the Ministry. Dark circles lined his eyes, red from a lack of sleep.

Fleur was still in torpor and Gabrielle had refused to go back to school. She and Apolline spent the day at Fleur's bedside, and Jacque took the night shift so they could go home. It left him with three or four hours of sleep at night, which led to his secretaries—and everyone else—given him a very wide berth.

Almost everyone else, he corrected himself, as the door opened and Philippe walked in. "I brought you lunch."

"Not hungry."

Philippe ignored him and produced two take-out boxes. "Thoughts in the brain improve when there's food in the stomach."

"Let me guess, Chinese, right?"

Philippe chuckled. He opened a container of rice noodles and set it in front of Jacque. "See? It's helping already."

Jacque pushed the container away. "I doubt I could keep it down now."

Philippe gave Jacque a hard look. "You look like hell. Go home tonight. I'll take your shift at the hospital. Sit by the fire with your wife and daughter and love on them. You need the rest."

"I can't," Jacque said. "We don't know when she'll wake up, or in what condition she'll be in. Decisions may need to be made fast if she's lost control of her magic . . . or her mind, which, in a Veela, amounts to the same thing."

Philippe eased himself into a chair and set his lunch on the desk. "Is that a real possibility?"

"No," he said. "But I don't want to risk it. Besides, if you were there, even if we gave you complete authority to make immediate decisions, you'd be second guessing yourself the rest of your life if that came up and it didn't work out."

"And you wouldn't be?"

"Yeah," Jacque admitted. "I would, but she's my daughter, so it's my burden. Anyway, there'll be plenty of time to rest when Fleur's awake. Apolline and I have already discussed it and I'm going to take a couple weeks off when she comes home."

"I like that scenario a lot better."

"Me too."

Philippe crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. "In that case, here's what we're going to do. I'll sit with Fleur for a couple hours tonight and you're going to see a Healer about your stomach issues."

Jacque opened his mouth, but Philippe cut him off. "Nuh, uh. Don't argue, you'll just be spells' cast away from her, so there's nothing to worry about—and that wasn't a suggestion. When you gave them an Auror Portkey, you put the entire thing under the authority of my department. So consider it an order."

The corners of Jacque's lips turned up. "Your authority my wand, but I'll take you up on seeing a Healer."

"Good," Philippe sat up and pulled his lunch back off the desk. "Now eat. I happened to remember what you were like when your wife was in labor and ordered accordingly."

Jacque opened the box in front of him to find a chicken and vegetable dish, no sauce. He figured he'd at least try it.

The conversation meandered through different topics, including the state of France's national Quidditch and Hockey teams, and then settled on the audit that was thankfully over.

"How did your office come out?" Jacque asked.

"Pretty good, I think we were in the negative about twenty Galleons, which isn't bad when you consider—" Jacques fireplace flared and someone stumbled out of it and fell to the floor.

"Anselme?" Philippe put his food down and went over to help him up. "I thought you called in sick this week?"

Anselme waved him off. "Harry, Fleur . . . in danger!" He managed, then collapsed into one of the couches a couple feet away from where he landed.

Jacque shared a look with Philippe. "What are you talking about?"

"Death Eaters, Imperious . . . I just broke the spell."

Jacque's fist collided with Anselme, breaking his nose and sending him over the couch. "You son of a bitch! Get up!"

Anselme got to his knees and Jacque drilled him again, knocking him back down to the floor.

"Stop!" Philippe ordered. He opened the door and yelled to the nearest secretary, "I need two Aurors from Internal Investigations and a bottle of Truth Serum. Now!"

Not forty-five seconds later, the Aurors rushed through the door. Philippe took the vial and walked over to the couch where Anselme was sitting, holding his nose to stem the flow of blood. Without a word, Anselme opened his mouth and accepted the dose.

Philippe healed his nose while they waited for the serum to take effect.

"Did Death Eaters use the Imperius Curse on you?" he asked a minute later.

"Yes."

"Was Harry their target?"

"Yes," Anselme said again.

"Was Fleur their target as well?"

"No."

"How did they find you?"

Anselme hesitated, and tears welled up in his eyes. "I went for a walk after lunch a little over a week ago. I saw a flutter of black robes and then I was hit with the curse."

"Stupid bastard!" Jacque said from behind the opposite couch. "Another leisurely stroll without Auror guards; just like always. Tell me I'm wrong. Please tell me you actually listened to us."

"I . . . I can't."

He came around the couch and stood in front of Anselme. "And I suppose you haven't kept up with your training to throw off the Imperius Curse since you left the field, right? Never mind that it's regulations, or that we told you how stupid it was."

Anselme bobbed his head back and forth.

"Thanks to you, Harry and Fleur were ambushed in England and barely made it back. Fleur is still in a coma in the hospital and Harry is gone." Jacque bent down, inches from the other man's face. "Your lackadaisical attitude killed Sirius, Remus, and I'm sure a number of other's we don't know about.

"It almost killed two of my children, as well." He caught himself before his anger caused him to attack his former friend again. Instead, he sat down on the opposite couch. "How?" he asked. "You didn't know where they were meeting or what time it was being held."

Anselme took a deep breath. "I was reporting any news we got from across the Channel or about 'Arry. That's why I suggested Sirius and one or two others come to the meeting last Saturday. That way, I could cast tracing charms on them. It's also why I called in sick this week—if I didn't know anything else, I wouldn't be forced to report it."

Jacque stared at the wizard that he had bled on battlefields with a decade and a half ago. There was so much history between them, and so many good times. The birth of every child, every holiday until Fleur's Veela genes kicked in, numerous cookouts and meals, and whatever else, the three of them had done it together. But Anselme's lax attitude towards his own security had always been a sore point between them. At first, it was just Jacque worrying about an old friend, especially in the last year. But now, that attitude almost cost him the one thing he refused to lose, his family.

Not almost, he corrected himself. Harry was gone. It did cost him part of his family.

"Get your ass out of my office!"

One of the Aurors helped Anselme out of the chair and guided him over to Philippe, who was standing by the door. They had a quiet few words before the second Auror took the other arm and led Anselme out.

Philippe sat down in the couch across from Jacque. "He's going to lose everything over this, you know that, right? His job, his retirement, everything."

"At least he still has his family."

"And you? There's a very good chance that Fleur's going to make it, Gabrielle is growing into a beautiful young woman, and your wife still loves you. Come to think of it, you even get along with your mother-in-law."

Jacque shook his head once. "You forgot someone."

"Do you really consider him a son?"

"The only reason I'm not in England right now is because he asked me to stay here and take care of Gabrielle and Apolline. Hell, he still thinks Fleur is dead."

Philippe leaned back against the couch. "Tell me something. Are you ready to throw away two decades of friendship over a mistake?"

"Mistake?" Jacque asked. "I told him something like this would happen. There's no excuse. After everything we saw in that war, he damn well knows better!"

"True, but there was nothing intentional. He didn't seek to betray you."

"I never said he did. But his actions still betrayed me and this government, actions that he could have easily prevented."

Philippe rubbed the palm of his hand along the armrest of the couch. "If I were casting your spell, I'm sure I'd be feeling the same way, but don't do anything rash. You know you're going to want him with us when we're on the other side of _La Manche_."

Jacque's eyes snapped up. "What?"

"I'm not a fool. At some point, you're going to end up there helping 'Arry, and we're going to end up over there fighting so that it doesn't spread to the continent anymore than it already has. I just hope we can get the French and English Muggle governments to agree, or technically, it'll be an invasion of a foreign power. With this new European Union thing the Muggles have, it just might throw all of Europe into the war, both Muggle and Magical."

Despite the last hour, Jacque chuckled. "If 'Arry and either of my two daughters are involved, I'd expect nothing less."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The light was too bright, her body too sore, and nothing felt right, neither inside or outside of herself. At least she was alive, but where was she? And how did she get here?

"Fleur?"

She opened her eyes. "Gabrielle?"

Tears leaked down her sister's cheeks, and she beamed with happiness.

"Where am I?"

"You're in the French Magical Hospital. You almost died."

Fleur tried to look around, but couldn't move her head. "Whas . . . can't. . ."

"They have you all bound up so you'd heal better. At least you don't have the restraints on anymore. Up until a day ago, they were worried about how you'd wake up.

"Whyzzat?"

Gabrielle wiped away a few tears. "You were an absolute mess. Your magic sent you into torpor."

Fleur tried to nod, but even that was impossible. She closed her eyes. Something was wrong, a strange feeling or thought that hovered just on the edge of her conscious mind, something that she should be asking about . . . but what? And why is it so hard to think?

She swallowed again, and got her answer. "Potions?"

"Tons," Gabrielle said. "Pain, bone growth, and every kind of replenishment potion they could find, I think. You name it, and they've shoved it down your throat for the last three weeks."

Her eyes widened. That was longer than when Harry ran into the side of the . . . wait, he was with her, wasn't he? Why isn't he here now? He was with her when . . . what?"

"Where was I?" she asked.

"England," Gabrielle answered.

She closed her eyes. England? What was I doing back . . . a meeting! The Order! He was showing the others what he learned, and then . . . That's what it was! 'Arry was coming for her, coming to save her, and then he was lit up with so many curses that he cart-wheeled to the ground, just before roof fell in. Her heart raced in her chest. "Is 'Arry . . . did he make it?"

Gabrielle's eyes teared up. "Yes, then the Healers confused your torpor with being dead. I was upset and . . ."

"And what?" Fleur asked.

Movement on the other side caught her attention, but she couldn't see that way yet. "And she did what any normal little sister would do."

Fleur knew that voice. "Who—"

She heard a chair-cushion decompress and Azzurra leaned over with a wry grin. "You know, someday, we're going to have a normal conversation."

"Why start now?" she looked back over to her sister. "Tell me what happened."

"I . . . I pushed him away."

She sniffed. "I didn't mean to, and when I realized he left, I tried to get someone to go get him but then everything happened with you being in torpor and Papa said to let him go even though I didn't want to and it's my fault he's gone."

Fleur had to slow down the words in her mind and replay them, then swallowed. "Gone?"

"Britain," Azzurra answered.

Fleur gasped, then with all her strength, she tried to move her right arm, getting just enough leverage to push against whatever stopping it.

"What are you doing?" Gabrielle asked. "Wait until the Healers get here!"

Fleur ignored her and reached over to free her left arm, but a hand came down on hers and she looked up to see Azzurra standing inches away. "Stop. You don't want to hurt yourself, I'm sure Harry is fine."

"Think" Fleur said. "If he believes I'm dead, then he's gone back to England to see how many Death Eaters he can kill before he follows suit."

Azzurra blinked. "Why would he . . . the Horcrux." Her eyes narrowed. "Are you telling me that this entire time, he was planning a suicide mission?"

"Something like that," Fleur answered. "If I'm dead, then 'killing Voldemort' just turned into 'taking him with me.' I have to get to him!" She removed the long pieces of board that kept her legs straight, then swung them off the bed and jumped down.

A high-pitched scream caused no less than six Healers to Apparate into the room.

**~ . ~ . ~**

Maman and Papa were down the hall talking to a Healer when Fleur woke up. They stayed while the healers reset the leg and wrist that she re-broke due to muscle atrophy, but with the way they were looking, Fleur made them go home a few hours later to sleep in their own bed. That left Azzurra and Gabrielle in the room with her.

The latter was still shaking her head. "I guess you won't be doing that again anytime soon."

She grunted. "Why aren't you back in school?"

"I refused. Then when Papa informed Professor Sirko what happened, Azzurra, Médée, and Jaleena came to visit you in the hospital and volunteered to tutor me. Susanne and Paige are helping as well."

"That was very nice of them," she said. "But I thought travel from Durmstrang was limited now.

Azzurra giggled. "If you were Professor Sirko, would you want to face me and two other pissed off Veela?"

"Guess not," Fleur answered. "Thanks."

"Someone had to keep Gabrielle in line while you were out of it. Who knows what kind of world-destruction she'd cause."

"Hey!" Gabrielle interjected.

Fleur smiled. "Azzurra's right, I've seen the trouble you get in, or should I say, get others in."

The conversation continued for a couple more hours until a Healer came in and informed them it was time to leave. Since Fleur was out of torpor, they weren't allowed to stay in her room any longer.

Gabrielle pulled Fleur's covers up, tucked her in, then leaned over and kissed her on her forehead, much as their mother always did.

Something about the way she did it set a lump in Fleur's throat. It was one thing to see Gabrielle worry about her, but the way she went about the small task spoke volumes about her maturity, and her love for Fleur. "You're my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister," Gabrielle reminded her.

"True, but your still my favorite, now go home. I want to talk to Azzurra for a few more seconds."

Gabrielle hesitated. "If you're making plans about 'Arry, I want to be here."

"It's not that," Fleur said. And stop blaming yourself. No matter what you did, he would have done the same thing, just like his note said."

"Doubt it," Gabrielle said to herself.

"Hey," Azzurra cut in. "You know she's right. I don't want to hear that."

"Sure."

"Don't make me get Médée and Jaleena down here to abuse you some more."

Gabrielle let a corner of her lip pull up. "Fine, though I think it'd be more fun if Markus abused me, maybe even did a little paddling in a leather suit."

Azzurra tossed a small sphere of fire at the girl. "Go!"

Gabrielle giggled, stepped away from the fireball, and walked to the door before turning around. Her humor was gone again. "Thanks. I just . . . it's hard."

"I know, Fleur said. "This isn't how I wanted it either, but we'll manage."

She smiled when Gabrielle's arms came around her again. "Get better, please."

"I will," Fleur said. Now go and get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow."

When she left, Fleur closed her eyes and a smile crept across her lips. "Thanks for not really throwing it." Fleur said.

"I'd never," Azzurra answered. "I remember the first time Harry described her to me, I thought he was making it all up. Now that I know her, he wasn't even telling me the half of it."

"She's something special," Fleur admitted.

"Yeah, but what?"

Fleur smiled. "Good question. I've never told her this, but I look up to her. She has a natural compass that guides her in the way she treats others, and herself. All last fall, I just kept watching her from a distance and wishing that I had her heart."

Azzurra made that little noise in the back of her throat that Harry always talked about. "From my perspective, doing that from a distance was a good idea. Up close, no one has a clue what's going to come out of her mouth."

Fleur laughed, then grabbed her ribs and groaned.

"You okay?"

"I will be, just give me a second." Fleur waited until she could breathe normally again. "Gabrielle's the reason I wanted to talk to you. When I'm ready, I'm going after Harry and if anything happens to me, she needs someone to step in and be a big sister. She loves our cousins, and adores Médée and Jaleena, but despite her crack about Markus, she also respects you."

Azzurra scrunched her eyebrows together. "You do remember my last name is Sala? Our flocks have been at odds for decades, if not centuries in the Zekānōt. Are you sure?"

Fleur nodded again. "You respect your mother's beliefs, but you don't hold to them, and that's the only issue there really is between our flocks. I can't think of anyone else I'd trust her to that's still young enough for her to relate with."

Azzurra closed her eyes and nodded. "I'd be honored, but I'll be pissed off if it comes to that. At least I don't have to tell you the consequences of pissing off a full Veela."

Fleur couldn't help but chuckle, then had a small coughing fit. "Harry told me what happened his first night at Durmstrang. I imagine the fireball in the hand trick really put the fear of Veela in him."

Azzurra grinned. "I had to do something to get through."

"And the little school-girl outfit?"

Azzurra blushed a deep red, which sent Fleur into another coughing fit.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X **

Hundreds of miles away, up in a little shack in the snow-covered mountains, Harry cast a spell and watched it slice through a tree a foot and a half thick. The tree started to fall, but he cast another spell, rocketing the three toward him, then a third that shredded it into little spikes before he banished everything toward the cabin. Literally tens of thousands of two-inch pieces of wood buried half way into the wall.

He'd done it. Three weeks of mental torture the likes of which he wouldn't have thought possible, but this series of spells was one that he shouldn't be able to cast. It was too complex for a fifteen, almost sixteen year old, and stood as proof that whatever magic of Voldemort's that was in the Horcrux the night he first tried to kill Harry, was now his, and that included most of the knowledge and spells Voldemort mastered up to that very night. The Horcrux still raged, but it was controlled, pulsating in his head and feeding him images of revenge. He did think it stranger however, that he could feel the difference between his own soul and the Horcrux.

Harry gathered everything into his trunk except for an extra cloak and hid it in the rafters. He thought about making it disappear, but couldn't bring himself to destroying one of the last two items he owned that Hagrid helped him buy in Diagon alley all those years ago. He cleaned himself up and made his way to a Muggle ferry, the last one crossing the English Channel that evening.

He stood outside on the deck, leaning against a railing. No one approached him, or even came near him for that matter, for which he was thankful. Memories of friends now almost year gone danced through his mind. He also thought about Neville and the others that were waging their own war already, about Neville being one of the most feared Wizards by Death Eaters at the age of fifteen.

They were doing their part. And now, it was time for Harry to do his. It was time to wage war in a way they hadn't ever seen, to screw with their heads, to strip them of their security, and to kill them in their own beds as they slept. Chaos was alive and well on the island already, but now, death was coming.

In the distance, a dark shape occulted the stars on the horizon. Harry stared at it until he thought he recognized the beach to which Vernon and Petunia were forced to take him one summer on Dudley's birthday. One last check confirmed that no one was on the deck near him and he turned, Apparating half a mile away into freezing cold, waist deep water.

With slow, deliberate steps, he walked out of the ocean waters onto British soil. A wind whistled over him and the wild grasses shivered, as if it knew that something bad was coming ashore, and it would have been right. Something bad was coming ashore, something very, very bad.

**END OF PART II**

* * *

><p>* <em>La strega sia dannato!<em>: Italian for "The witch be damned!" I chose this as just a normal everyday vulgarity because of the history of the _strega_, or "witch." in Italy. Centuries ago, the witches embarked on healing arts and unbetwitching commoners, yet they held the common types of medicine with disdain. These witches were also thought to be "supernatural figures." According to a quote from Pliny the Elder, these witches turned into birds of prey. (They also murdered children in that form). Magliocco, Sabina. "Witchcraft, Healing and Vernacular Magic in Italy," in _Witchcraft Continued: Popular Magic in Modern Europe_, edited by Willem De Blécourt and Owen Davies. Manchester: University Press, 2004: 151-173. (specifically, pages 157-158).


	20. The Bottom Rung

.

**PART III**

**THE WEAPON**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty<strong>

**The Bottom Rung**

Fleur heard the door open and shielded her eyes against the light from the corridor. Healer Domenico walked in. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Good, until you showed up."

The Helping-Witch came in behind him and shut the door.

Cheerfulness this early in the morning was just another example of the torture Fleur endured at the hands of these two. It wasn't that Fleur disliked them; in fact, she had grown to admire both, and, she had to admit, the Healer _was_ rather attractive. Okay, very attractive, and he had a pleasant way about him, too.

It was a shame Gabrielle wasn't old enough. He would have been perfect for Susanne, but she seemed to have cared even more for Sirius that she let on. No, what Fleur disliked was that he enjoyed waking her up at the crack of dawn.

The Healer chuckled and pulled up chair to the left of Fleur's bed. "About the same as usual, it seems."

"If you want a different answer, come back when the little hand is on the eight, rather than the six."

The Helping-Witch snorted and covered her mouth. A quick look from the Healer and she tried to fade into the background. It was a difficult chore, considering the austere room.

"I prefer to finish with my grumpy patients first." He smiled and gestured at her leg. "Are you still in pain?"

"A little when I'm exercising."

He glanced at the Helping-Witch. "How far has she progressed that she's still feeling it?"

"We've finished Magical Control and Retraining due to her torpor. For the leg, we're working on stamina over strength at this point."

"How's she doing?"

"I'd put her around ninety percent. She started the last stage a week ago."

The Healer wrote something on the parchment he carried with him. "How does your leg feel now?"

"Fine, at the moment."

He pursed his lips and scribbled a few more lines. "It's progress, at least, and I'm happy with your recovery over all, but I'm not sure why you're still feeling pain. I imagine you know the drill by now?"

Fleur sighed. "Unfortunately."

"Good, I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

She waited until he left, then got up and stripped.

"Comfortable?" asked the Helping-Witch once Fleur was lying down again.

"As much as possible, I guess, though I'm not looking forward to the next few minutes."

"I can't say I blame you, Healer Domenico hates this part too." She waved her wand over Fleur's more private areas. _"Obfuscare." _

The areas darkened until it looked as though two black sheets lay across her. Two other preparatory charms raised goose bumps on her body.

A soft knock on the door caught Fleur's attention.

"She's ready," the Helping-Witch said and the Healer walked back in. Fleur thought about what the Helping-Witch said and let her empathic abilities loose, curious if she could pick up his dislike.

He settled himself back on the stool and began, passing his wand over her in a slow, methodical sweep, never slowing down or speeding up. "It's uncomfortable lying there so exposed, isn't it?"

"I know the spells block everything, but. . ." Her answer sparked something and she caught the edge of his emotions. "You really don't like doing these, do you?"

He finished the second pass, and then conjured two foot rests. "Can't say that I do, I'd rather stick with Emergency Healing."

"Why's that?"

"Lift your legs, please." He manipulated them into place, bent at a forty-five degree angle and spread farther apart than was comfortable. "I don't like seeing my patients in pain. In Emergency Healing, they come in with pain and we get to alleviate it. Here, I'm the one that causes it as often as not. That, and I despise full body exams; I didn't like them when I was a patient—and I've been one a couple of times—and I don't like them when I'm the Healer, either."

He cast sensitivity charms on his fingertips and rubbed them together. "Okay, same thing as last time: I'm going to check the skin and cut for any dormant necrosis spells that have turned active, then cast another diagnostic charm to assess the wound."

Fleur caught another wave of . . . what? Dislike? No, that was too weak. Revulsion? No, not quite that either. Irritation? That seemed about right. "If you don't like doing this, then why are you still practicing?"

"You're full of questions today, what happened to it being too early in the morning for you?"

She shrugged. "It's your penitence. Your Helping-Witch mentioned something in passing, but I picked up on your emotions this morning, too, so I was curious."

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"Veela—empathic, remember?" Or at least she was learning about it.

"Not really," he answered. "You're the third Veela I've seen as a patient in the twenty years I've worked here. We just don't get that many. That's a large reason why we missed your torpor, by the way."

"Paige said she heard someone else mention that as well. Why is that?"

"When was the last time you or another Veela you know was in a hospital?" he asked. "Your physiology is different enough that Veela aren't very prone to injury, and when you do get injured, you're all natural Healers, right?"

"Most of us," she said. "Though not even a Flock Leader could have done what you did."

"I suppose not, but that's kind of the point, the Veela injuries we see are life-threatening and Veela are good at not getting into those situations, or if they do, they come out ahead so they don't end up with some damn fool Healer prodding and poking at the wounds. Speaking of which—" He pressed on the inside of her thigh and she jumped.

"I did warn you," he reminded her, humor danced in his eyes.

She restrained a growl and let herself relax as he worked his fingers over the scar tissue and surrounding area. The tingling sensation his touch caused shot through her body. Over the last few weeks, she'd come to hate that Veela were so tactile—not that the sensations themselves weren't pleasurable—but she'd rather have Harry causing them. Fleur took a deep breath and concentrated on forcing her body to turn them off.

Healer Domenico finished and canceled the sensitivity charms before casting a Cleaning Charm on his hand. "If there's no necrosis by now, I think you're in the clear. Consider yourself lucky."

"Lucky?" Fleur repeated.

"More than you know," he answered. "You were hit with so many spells that it took five days before we could counter them all. At least three were longer acting; brutal, nasty things they were, too."

He cast a different diagnostic charm and watched the colors dance on her skin, then clucked his tongue. "The artery is holding up, but the muscle Leanna had to cut is still a little weak, your pain is probably because of the scar tissue that keeps forming." He grimaced. "Sorry to do this to you, but we have to get rid of it again."

Her stomach turned over. This was not the most enjoyable experience. She shoved the edge of the pillow in her mouth and nodded for him to continue. The spell hit her leg and tears welled up. Fleur crammed the pillow against her face and screamed.

"Fifteen more seconds."

Her back arched off the bed and spots dotted her vision.

"Eight Seconds."

Fleur screamed again.

"Two seconds, one, finished." He canceled the spell and she fell back against the mattress.

"Someday I need to develop a Numbing Charm that won't interfere with that spell." He hit her with a Diagnostic Charm. "Maybe some good news'll make you feel a bit better."

She fought to catch her breath. "That'd be nice."

"I'll shove potions down your throat today and tomorrow, then do another diagnostic next Thursday. If the muscle stays free of scar tissue, I'll let you go home the following day, is that good enough news to make up for abusing you this early in the morning?"

"Home?" Her body tingled for another reason now, hope; hope that she could finally leave and figure out how to track down Harry.

"Absolutely," he answered. "Stay off your feet today, but tomorrow, I want you back with our Physical Healers. Also, I want you to gain at least another eight to ten pounds. Torpor may have saved your life, but your body emerged from it with a vengeance and from what I understand, you were underweight to begin with."

Fleur shrugged again. "I'm eating everything on my plate, including whatever my sister and cousins sneak in."

Healer Domenico lifted her legs from the rests and laid them on the bed, pulled the sheet up over her, then canceled the Obfuscation Spell. "Tell them they don't have to sneak it in, but, if they're bringing anything from Pinot's deli in the magical square, I get first choice."

"You like that place?"

"Yeah, a bit overpriced, but the food's worth it." He got up and walked to the door, motioning the Helping-Witch to follow him. "I'm serious about your weight, if you haven't gained it by the end of June, first of July, I'm readmitting you, understand?"

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A week later, Gabrielle stepped out of the fireplace into the smaller sitting room and dusted herself off. "Papa? Maman?"

"I'm right here." Papa peaked around the doorway leading to the kitchen. "Your maman's almost finished dressing. How did your lesson go?"

"Fine," she answered, but this wasn't the time for small talk, they had things to do, like bringing her sister home from the hospital! "What's taking her so long?"

Papa shrugged. "You know how she is; everything has to be just right."

"But—" That didn't make sense . . . "Wasn't she already dressed?"

"I was, as a matter of fact." Maman came through the doorway into the sitting room. "But then I decided that I wanted to go on a broom ride."

"I didn't know you had a broom."

Maman grinned. "I don't, that's why I used my husband's."

Gabrielle covered her eyes and blushed. "That's my papa you're talking about!"

"And you're saying that in front of my daughter," Papa added for good measure.

"I know." Maman put a hand on his shoulder to balance herself and pulled on her shoe. She winked at Gabrielle, who was watching through her fingers. "How do you think he became a papa?"

"I. Do. Not. Want. To. Hear. This."

"I thought we were all adults," Maman's smile grew even wider. "Adults talk about these things."

"Not to their children, they don't!" She stomped over to the fireplace, threw in a handful of powder, called out for the hospital, and disappeared.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur was packed and waiting, wondering when her family would show up since the stupid hospital rules wouldn't let her leave on her own. She thought about getting her book out to read, but the door opened and Gabrielle stormed in. Her parents didn't follow.

"Where's Maman and Papa?"

"Some other continent, I hope, far away from here!"

Fleur quirked an eyebrow and patted the mattress next to her. "I know that look. What has our wonderful maman done this time?"

"You don't want to know." Gabrielle hopped up on the bed.

"She has a way of saying things, doesn't she?"

Gabrielle huffed. "I can accept many things. For instance, I'm okay with knowing that we are Veela, and that Maman is older and more experienced. I'm even okay with that fact that we weren't born of a virgin. But I do _not _want to hear about Papa's broom or that it's the reason Maman had to get dressed twice this morning!" Gabrielle shivered. "I think I'm scarred for life."

Fleur was torn between laughing and feeling sorry for her younger sister. She remembered all too well the things that came out of her mother's beak. "Maybe you could pay a Healer to Obliviate the memory."

Gabrielle bounced a finger off her lips. "You know," she said after a little contemplation, "that's not a bad idea. Have any money I can borrow?"

"I haven't worked a lot this spring," Fleur reminded her. "What happened to all that money you won the night of the party . . . something I still haven't forgotten, by the way!"

"Speaking of which"—Gabrielle took a breath—"I wanted to say sorry."

"For what? I was just teasing."

"For last fall. I was so busy being mad at you that I forgot to be your sister. When we thought that you were, that you had . . . all I could think about was how much I would miss you and how I wouldn't have you anymore, and, and . . . I know I act like a sprite sometimes, but—"

"Sometimes?"

Fleur smirked and Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. "I'm trying to have a bonding moment with you, if you don't mind!"

Fleur's laughter filled the room. "I hope you never change, and I made a lot of mistakes last year, too, including being 'a selfish bitch,' as someone put so eloquently."

"Uh, yeah." Gabrielle frowned. "I should apologize for that, as well."

"Don't, you were right—not that I wanted to hear it, though at least it all ended well enough the night of the Christmas party."

"I'd say. I'd never believe that many cackling hens could be so quiet." Gabrielle tilted her head a little to the side. "Did you really not know he was behind you?"

Fleur shook her head. "Paige and I were in a pretty deep discussion."

"About?"

She smirked. "'Arry, what else? Why do you think I was so shocked when I turned around?"

Her sister giggled. "Not as shocked as when he kissed you."

"You'll never know, but that brings us back to my first question. How much _did_ you make that night?"

"A hundred and thirty galleons give or take a few. I had to wait 'till Christmas to collect most of it."

Fleur's jaw dropped. "You can pay for your own Memory Charm!"

Gabrielle mumbled something and looked away.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Gabby?"

"What?"

"What did you say?"

"Nothing!"

"Gabby!"

She deflated. "I spent it already."

"All of it?" Fleur tried to wrap her head around spending that much money. "What could you have possibly spent that much on?"

Gabrielle handed over her wand. "This."

The first thing Fleur noticed was the surreal quality, there wasn't a visible seam or tool mark to be found on the reddish-brown wand, and that included the four inlaid strips of a light-colored wood that ran down the handle.

"What is it made of?"

"Ironwood, with a Hazel inlay."

"Black Ironwood? Why would—"

"No," Gabrielle interrupted. "Hornbeam, regular Ironwood."

"I guess you're stubborn enough for it. What's in the core?"

"Grandma gave me another Veela hair when I told her what I was doing. It's twisted together with a dragon heartstring."

Fleur laid the wand in her palm and found it superbly balanced, though heavy for her taste, but something niggled at her about the combination. "Ironwood and dragon heartstring; have you mastered the wand yet?"

"Close, but it's been difficult."

"I'm not surprised; it's a very powerful combination." She inspected it again. "Hazel inlay with Veela-hair as a second core, you know what happens when you combine that wood and core, yes? It's the same as Unicorn hair."

"The wand will die when I die, I know. We made sure there was enough Hazelwood to make it happen. It also makes the wand lighter and so I can cast faster. The Veela hair makes for good Healing Charms too." She took the wand back and caressed it. "It fits both my Veela and Human magic, and it'll never work right against me nor can it used for bad when I'm dead."

There was that niggling again. "Why would you be worried about that?"

"It's something anyone should be worried about, isn't it? I thought it was worth the money, anyway."

"I guess." She couldn't put her finger on what was unsettling about the conversation, besides the fact that her little sister was talking wandlore and death, which was disconcerting enough. "Why was it so much?"

"I found out that first wands are subsidized. Second wands can range between forty to sixty Galleons, but Monsieur Ollivander made this one for me from scratch."

"Ollivander? Isn't he the English wand-maker? I remember him from the tournament."

"That's him, and you weren't kidding about his prejudice against Veela hair, either. You should have heard him when Grandma's hair rejected most of the other cores and wood."

Fleur stared at the wand. "What was wrong with your wand? And what is Monsieur Ollivander doing in France?"

"I asked him the same thing. He said the war was getting rough so when his cousin invited him to help with the business here, he jumped at it. As for my wand"—Gabrielle looked away—"I don't know. I needed something that was more in tune with my magic."

The niggling got worse. "Why do I get the feeling you're not telling me everything?"

Gabrielle plastered an innocent smile on her face. "Because you're afraid of my impish ways?"

She snorted. "Doubt it." She said, then grabbed her sister and started tickling. Gabrielle squealed and slapped at Fleur's hands.

"Ahem," someone said a few minutes later. Maman walked through the doorway, arms folded and wearing a larger than life smile.

One side of Fleur's lips pulled up. "You look . . . freshly plucked. Where's Papa?"

Maman rolled her eyes. "He stopped off to talk to the Healers. Come, grab your things and we'll get him on the way out. I'm sure you're sick of this place by now."

"I have to wait for my Healer to discharge me," Fleur reminded her.

"Then I'll go see where he's at."

They watched her leave, then Gabrielle smirked. "'Freshly plucked?' I'm impressed."

"Thank you. It's a shame you're not a few years older."

"Why's that?"

"Because," Fleur said, her lip twitching. "I think you'd love being plucked by my Healer."

Five minutes later, Maman walked back into the room with the Healer in tow. Fleur glanced at Gabrielle with a raised eyebrow and watched her blush bright pink. Gabrielle excused herself and fled from the room.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

It amazed him how people went about their business in the alley below ignorant that death was so close. He could cast any spell he wanted, kill a third of the people walking by before anyone even knew what was happening. He wouldn't do it, of course; at least not to those who were innocent, though how many people in Knockturn alley could that word be applied to?

Harry adjusted his Invisibility Robe, rearranged himself on the roof, and thought about the last month and a half he spent spying on the Wizarding population—so much for raining blood from the skies upon his enemies, eh? He almost snorted. No, that was still coming, but what he needed were plans to get to Voldemort and that meant he had to start at the bottom and work his way up through his followers.

He took a sip from the bottle of water in his lap and listed off what little he knew: Death Eaters controlled magical Britain except for some small pockets of resistance here and there who were branded as traitors to the magical world; the average wizard or witch didn't like the new situation, but they were too afraid to do anything about it, and with good cause—he'd seen someone branded a trader and led through Hogsmeade, then publicly executed for daring to help a wizard that had fallen under a Death Eater's displeasure; and Voldemort was nowhere to be found, nor were any of his inner-circle. There were still a ton of Death Eaters around, but the higher-ups were playing it smart.

It wasn't enough, which was the reason he was on the roof taking note of people who frequented Borgin and Burkes. It wasn't the type of place nice wizards went for an afternoon of shopping. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like the type of place Death Eaters frequented either, or at least, those that mattered. He did spot a couple that he swore were Crabbe and Goyle entering the store a week ago, and again two days ago, but that was it. He trailed them the second time, hoping that they'd lead to someone more important, but they were a dead-end. Of course, he'd known that since their first year at Hogwarts.

Harry chuckled and took another sip. What bothered him the most was that he still didn't know what he didn't know, and that made anything he did in the future both dangerous and most likely futile. What he needed was a plan of attack, a way to sow discord and fear among the Death Eaters until he could get to Voldemort.

It wasn't much, but at least a vague outline of goals—real goals instead of simple revenge—was a beginning: gain information, create fear, sow discord; that he could do. Of course, with that question answered, two more came up: how long should he remain hidden, and would it be better to let Neville take the credit? He already had a reputation for chaos, but there was the chance that drawing too much attention to Neville would be the same as Harry hitting him with the Killing Curse himself. Plus, if he wanted to sow fear and discord, letting them know that there were two predators rather than one went a lot further toward that particular goal, but not yet. First, he had to gain a little more information, though he couldn't do it passively anymore. He'd learn all that he was going to learn that way.

Harry finished off the water and banished the bottle with a silent spell, then looked at the sun's position and judged the time. If he were honest with himself, his first target was inside those doors across the street. She wasn't a Death Eater, at least, he didn't think she was, but that didn't mean she wasn't helping. Whatever she knew would help him firm up his plans.

Another thirty minutes passed before the witch in question flipped the store's sign to _closed. _Harry crab-walked to the backside edge of the roof and dropped down to a cement box that housed a skip.

Why would a magical shop have a skip? Did certain things resist being banished?

He put that thought away for later and made sure he was covered by his robe, then lowered himself to the ground and slid along the back wall of the building until he reached the opening between it and the next building. It was just wide enough for him to walk through.

The alley wasn't busy, but there were still enough people in it that he needed to be careful not to bump anyone. He started across when a cat hissed in his direction. He froze, staring at the cat and wondering if it was Professor McGonagall, but the markings were wrong. Harry's heart thumped in his chest. He didn't want to move, but at any moment, someone was liable to bump into him. The cat turned its back to him and walked off. He couldn't help but think of the irony, that stupid cat looked just liked Mrs. Norris.

A ragged witch that he'd seen selling heads of Muggles passed him to his right. He wondered again where she got them, but realized about the time that he was at the front door of Borgin and Burkes that he was better off not knowing.

He also would have been better off knowing that the door was locked before he made it this far. Damn, how could he forget something as simple as that? Harry assessed his options and gave it up for a loss until he noticed the Muggle-head witch walking back up the street, mumbling about something. Whatever the subject was, it had her wound up tight.

Perfect.

A spell shot from under his robe and hit a half-rotten sirrush liver, which in turn, rocketed off the vendor's table and hit the old witch in the back of her head. She spun around faster than Harry thought possible and hexed the closest person standing next to her, which just happened to be a middle-aged hag who drew her wand.

Whatever spell she cast caused the old witch's face to bubble up with warts and the fight was on. People poured out of the shops to watch. Harry had to admit this fight was better than the one yesterday, or the two the day before, all three of which were started by the same cantankerous old witch.

The door opened and Pansy Parkinson stepped out to watch. Up close, Harry almost missed the girl. The last year had been good to her; she'd grown out of her pug nose and short blonde hair. The pleasant smile she sported helped tremendously. He felt guilty for what he was about to do, but then again, chances were she was the same sycophant Malfoy bitch-toy she always was, or maybe Malfoy passed her on to Crabbe and Goyle?

He cursed himself for the picture that thought painted in his brain and slipped into the shop. Pansy walked back in a few minutes later and a tall, middle-aged man with graying hair followed her. She stopped him in the doorway.

"What do you want?"

He peered over her shoulder at the merchandise on the shelves. "I was coming in to look around."

"We're closed." She gestured toward the sign in the window. "The store will open again tomorrow morning at nine."

"I'll just be a minute."

"You'll be less than that." Pansy slammed the door in the man's face, locked it, then cast a spell to keep it that way and made her way back behind the counter. She sat on a stool and picked up a handful of receipts from the glass showcase behind her.

Harry put some distance between them so he could sidestep any spell she might cast—Invisibility cloak or not, he wasn't taking a chance—and interrupted her afternoon. "Rather rude to your customers, aren't you?"

Pansy fell off her stool and receipts fluttered through the air. He had to give her credit for coming back up, wand out, as quickly as she did, but he couldn't allow her to keep it. Harry cast a non-verbal Disarming Spell and her wand sailed through the air. A quick double motion, down and up, resulted in a cutting curse that sliced it in two.

Pansy backed up into the showcase and yelped, yanking her arm away from a brooch that sat on the edge. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh permeated the air.

"It's not so nice when your toys turn against you, is it?"

She ignored him and came around the front case with a walking stick in hand, holding it like a beater's bat. "Show yourself; I'm warning you!"

"Or what?"

Pansy moved to her left, one slow step at a time towards the door. Harry gave her a few more seconds before winding her up some more. "Put the stick down."

She bolted for the door instead, but with a slash and twist of his wand, Harry threw her back across the room and she landed in a heap against the back wall. He waved it again and the black curtains that hung against the windows closed off the view from the street.

"Wha . . . what are you going to do to me?"

"Guess."

She trembled. "No! Please don't!"

"Don't what?" he asked, wondering what she thought he'd do.

"Don't rape me!"

Harry stopped. Rape? Why would she think . . .? His blood ran cold. They _couldn't _be doing that, could they? Yeah, they could, and would. Madame Bones even warned Fleur about it last summer. "Is that what your Death Eater friends do for fun? Do they come in after their finished and brag about their conquests? Maybe you enjoy listening to them, yes, even laugh when they tell you how the little girls begged them to stop?"

She pushed herself against the wall and pulled her knees up to her chest. "I—I don't laugh!"

A second chill ran down his spine. She didn't deny the rapes, the sick bastards.

"Please, you can take anything in the store, just don't . . . not me!" she continued.

"Then who?" His stomach revolted at the thought, but if she was this afraid, maybe he could get her to talk. "You're the only one here. Sorry, Pansy, but it's been too long since I've had a little flesh."

She stood on shaky legs. "I, there's a store across the street, the keeper's daughter is there. I, I could help you."

He knew who she was talking about, he'd seen the little girl many times playing behind store he was perched on, she was a cute little brunette with pigtails and a cheery smile. He seethed with anger. "You offer up a ten-year-old to be raped?"

"Better her than me!" she yelled back. "Her mother's a Mudblood so it doesn't matter any—"

"You disgusting bitch!" He flung his cloak off and backhanded her. She spun around once and dropped to the floor.

He swallowed the bile that rose in the back of his throat.

She pushed herself back up and turned to him, her eyes blazing with hate. "Potter?"

"He's dead."

She glanced at his scar. "Then, who are you?"

"The bastard that killed him."

That confused her, but only for a moment before her entire demeanor changed back to the arrogant Slytherin he remembered at Hogwarts. "That's funny, because I thought you were the same pathetic orphan that couldn't rate better friends than a Weasley and a Mudblood, need help casting spells now that Granger's dead?"

She closed the distance between them, the fear in her eyes dissipating with every step. "I'd say get the blood-traitor to help you, but he's dead to, isn't he? Poor potty Potter—"

Harry hit her with a Stinging Jinx to shut her up, then banished all but her bra and knickers. After that, he cast a Sticking Charm on the wall, picked her up, and slammed her against it.

"Get your hands off me!"

He aimed his wand and drew down his magic. The silent _Reducto _Curse slammed into her solar plexus and she gasped for air.

"You will speak when I ask a question," he said. "Other than that, shut the hell up." He grabbed her wrist and twisted, and she grunted from the pain of the sticking charm that ripped at her flesh, but there was no Dark Mark. Not that he expected it to be there, but it still made it more difficult to know where the line was that he shouldn't cross.

Then again, she didn't know that, did she? He conjured a chair and got comfortable. "I have a few questions for you, Parkinson, and I suggest you answer them honestly."

"Get bent!"

She was either stupidly brave or bravely stupid, Harry wasn't sure, yet, though he was leaning towards the latter. He leveled his wand and the front of her knickers slid down an inch. "Keep it up and you'll be feeling my snake."

"Go to hell!"

"You're making this hard on yourself, aren't you?" His wand came up and her knickers slid down again, stopping just before she was exposed to the world. "That was your last chance. I want the names of the Death Eaters that visited you the other day."

She sneered. "You're filling some kind of perverted fantasy, aren't you?"

"Fantasy? You?" He laughed at the thought. "Don't flatter yourself."

Her sneer froze in place. "Then, what's with all this?"

"Humiliation." He stood up. "Or maybe I wanted a better view of your skin sloughing off if you don't start answering me; tell me about the Death Eaters."

Her eyes went wide and he figured that she was beginning to understand. He wasn't the same Harry Potter she knew at Hogwarts. "Mr. Crabbe, Vinny's father. I have no idea who the other wizard is."

"And what do they want?"

"Nothing, they just come to see if there are any new dark items for sale.

"Pansy"—Harry shook his head—"I don't believe you. _Dilatio Serpensortia._"

A spout of light hit her about two inches below her navel. She winced, then snorted at the lack of pain, somehow gaining courage from it. "What's wrong, screw up the spell since that Mudblood isn't here to help—" Her eyes went wide when she sensed something was wrong and looked down at her distended stomach.

"What . . . ?"

Harry hit her with a Silencing Spell. "Congratulations, snake, you're pregnant with your own kind. A word of advice, Pit Vipers do not like to be startled."

The blood drained from her face and upper torso.

"If you're good, I'll make it disappear when we're done. If not, well, enjoy giving birth. Now, let's try this again: why was Crabbe coming to the store?" He released the Silencing spell.

"Information is p-p-passed between him and others who aren't Death Eaters. Please . . . make it go away."

Harry watched the Slytherin mask fall away and the real Pansy, the scared little girl who hid behind it, come out. He ignored the pity he felt for her, along with the disgust he was beginning to feel for himself. "Who are the messages for?"

Her eyes went wide when a slight bulge appeared where the viper had adjusted itself. "M-m-mainly low-level workers in the Ministry, th-there's one or two that are higher, please, get this out of me."

He shook his head both in answer to her, and in frustration, it didn't make sense. "If Riddle already controls the Ministry, why does he need to use you?"

"Who's Riddle?"

Harry raised his wand.

"Please, I don't know that name!" Tears leaked from her eyes. "I promise I don't!"

She couldn't know, either, Harry realized. The Wizarding World was clueless about his identity. "Tom Riddle is Voldemort's real name. Why is he passing messages through you?"

"No one ever told me. . . Draco mentioned that it would keep me safe, but he stopped coming around six months ago. I hardly see him anymore."

"So why not just leave?" Harry asked.

"If I leave, they'll track me down and kill me."

She was right, too. He shrugged. "You should've thought about that before you chose sides. What are the messages about?"

A whimper escaped her throat. "I haven't seen any of them, but last winter someone handed off a large envelope, big enough to hold pictures. The next day, three people disappeared from the Ministry."

Did Riddle keep a back door line of communication open for those he could trust—well, whatever passed for trust with him—in the Ministry? Anyone stupid enough to be caught planning against him would disappear, nice and silent. It was brilliant—if he were honest with himself—after all, that's what he was planning to do. Another idea popped into his head. Why not start with those that worked at the ministry? If nothing else, he might be able to co-opt a few of them, all he needed was a few names and faces.

Thankfully, he picked up some of Voldemort's Legilimency ability, though it wasn't enough to be considered anything near proficient. He hoped that, paired with the little bit of training he received at Durmstrang, would at least enable him to get to her surface thoughts, though he'd need her help, and he doubted she'd give it to him willingly.

Well, fear had worked so far. "I think I need those memories, so this is going to hurt. I've just learned Legilimency and the more you fight, the more damage I'll end up doing, do try to hold still and be quiet so you don't disturb the viper."

"Wait!" The rims of her eyes were puffy and red at this point. "We have a broken Pensieve in the back; it'll work for a few minutes per memory. I'll give you all of mine and the Pensieve as well."

Harry made a show of thinking about it, then shook his head. "How do I know it's not cursed, or maybe there's a tracking charm on it? No thanks." He raised his wand.

"Harry, please! I beg you, don't."

"Begging never helps, trust me. Now push them to the front of your mind and maybe this won't be as painful . . . _Legilimency!_"

An odd sensation flowed through his magic. It felt like his brain was watching television, but the antennas weren't situated right; the picture was hazy and jumped about and voices came and went, not to mention that everything was tinged with Pansy's emotions, which he didn't care for in the least. When the last of it faded, he ended the spell.

She was crying again. "The . . . the Harry I knew at Hogwarts would have never done this."

He stepped close enough that he could feel her body heat. "You never knew that Harry, and you sure as hell don't know me."

Pansy took a ragged breath. "But, aren't you the same?"

"You don't listen, do you? We couldn't be more different; he cared about people, about friends. He was a pathetic tosser."

"And you?"

Harry glared at her. How in the hell did a _Legilimency_ Spell turn her into a bloody conversationalist?

"What do you care about?" she pressed.

"Death."

What little color she had left drained from her face and neck, but Harry was too busy trying to figure out what she was up to.

A scraping noise from the back room, followed by a door closing answered his question. "Pansy—"

"Blaise! Help!"

Harry hit her again with Silencing Charm, but it was too late. Blaise Zambini emerged from the doorway that led to the back room, his wand already twisting. Harry ducked the first spell and sidestepped a second, then cast three stunners that slammed into a Shield Charm. Zambini dropped it and started on another curse, but Harry hit him with a Summoning Spell, then stepped out the way and flicked his wand.

Zambini collided with the glass counter headfirst and Harry followed on, driving off one leg and connecting with the other against Zambini's back, just below the neck. It snapped and his body went limp.

He spun back toward Pansy. "You need to die!"

She trembled against the wall.

Harry made his next words as cold as possible. "You have one chance to get this right. You will tell me everything you know: what is Voldemort doing, who are his Death Eaters, who are they allied with, what are their plans, and anything else that you can think of." He cast another spell on her stomach. "That viper is going to wake up in ninety seconds, brassed off and hungry. Start talking."

And talk she did. If the situation were different, he would have been amazed at how much someone could say in such a short period, and by the wild look in her eyes and the tears that poured, he had no doubts that he'd broken her. She spewed everything she knew, but it wasn't much. One thing did sound promising however, a few Death Eaters met together now and then in a rented space around the corner. He decided that he might have to pay them a visit.

Pansy finished talking about three minutes later and he banished the snake, then canceled the spell that held her against the wall. He hit her with a Memory Charm, then left by the same door Zambini had used, and Apparated to a small cave on the western edge of Wales. He cast the necessary charms and wards and then sank to the dirt floor; his body shaking in the aftermath of what he had just done.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur leaned on her desk chair for a second to get her breath, then collapsed on her bed. Sweat poured from her body as it did every day during her afternoon run—or morning and evening runs as well—since she came home three weeks ago. At least her leg was stronger, but her endurance still wasn't where she wanted it to be.

Someone knocked at the bedroom door, but she didn't have the energy to go open it. Instead, she propped herself up on her elbows. "Come in." She waited to see who it was before flopping down on the mattress and asking, "Done with Gabrielle's lesson already?"

"Just finished," Médée answered. "Enjoy your run?"

"Not really."

"You look exhausted."

"Somewhat."

Médée studied her for a moment. "How's your leg feeling?"

"Okay."

"Always this talkative?"

"No."

The other Veela shut the door behind her and sat next to Fleur. "You're still not sure about me, are you?"

Fleur gave her a half-smile. "I'm working on it, but I'm still a little jealous of 'Arry's Veela-chicks."

"And yet, you have no problem with Azzurra or Jaleena."

"True." She sat up, snagged a towel off the back of the chair and wiped herself off, then decided to be honest with Médée. "There was a lot of flirting and sexual tension between 'Arry and you—" She held up her hand. "It was all innocent, I know, and I believe you."

"Then . . . why . . . ? I'll apologize if you'd like, but I'm not sure that's what you're looking for."

Fleur slumped. "No, I'm not, it's just me. Deep down, it seems I'm just a shallow, bitter harpy."

Médée's laughter wasn't what she expected. "Maybe 'Arry has a thing for bitter Harpies then, and here I thought it was because we were both French."

Despite herself, Fleur cracked a smile. "We're Veela, not French, and the better for it, too."

"True," Médée said. "Maybe if I explain what why I was doing what I was doing, it'll help."

Fleur nodded for her to go on.

"The day 'Arry showed up at Durmstrang, we were pretty impressed that he could break the Veela attraction, especially with three of us in the room with him, but he was as naive as he was innocent, and in a school full of Veela, let alone a world of blood-sucking witches, that's dangerous for someone like him.

"On top of that, Professor Sirko told us that we needed to help him learn how to think on his feet in ways that didn't involve a wand. So, I decided that if a fifteen-year-old can handle being teased by a fully mature Veela, he'd be set for whatever else he encountered. We had a feeling part of that would be dealing with the Zekānōt at some point, since any Veela that he was involved with would come to their attention quickly, even if her last name wasn't Delacour."

"I suppose I have you to thank for his courage over Christmas."

"Maybe," Médée answered. "But I'd prefer to think he just recognized how much you cared for him and acted accordingly, just like you did in the Professor's office this spring."

Fleur thought about that for a moment. "Speaking of which, what the three of you did that night, it was the most unselfish thing I've ever seen. Azzurra told me how bad the three of you suffered."

Médée shook her head. "And you're inviting us back around him was what, a personal fantasy? If you want to talk about unselfish, look in the mirror. I'm not sure I would've done what you did, no matter how bad my boyfriend was suffering, and I've been friends with Azzurra and Jaleena for years."

"The three of you really did grow to love him, didn't you?"

"Am I going to get in trouble if I say yes?"

Fleur rolled her eyes again, but this time it was accompanied with a smile. She stood up and peeled off her t-shirt before looking back over her shoulder. "Modesty issues?"

"Not unless you have different parts that me."

Fleur pulled off her sweaty clothes and tossed them in a hamper, then cast a Cleaning Charm on herself. "By the way, I think 'Arry _really _enjoyed the images you all pushed into him."

"Oh?" Médée said. "Why is that?"

"I slept in his bed that night in case the 'Orcrux acted up again. He um, took a _very _long shower before climbing in. I guess he forgot about a Veela's sense of smell."

"And how do you know he wasn't just thinking about you?"

Fleur slipped on knickers and a bra. "Because despite everything else, he's still a teenage wizard, and they do tend to think with their wands."

Médée chuckled, but her eyes settled on Fleur's scar and she drew silent.

"Pretty ugly, isn't it?" Fleur asked.

"Looks like it hurt."

"Not that much, then again I was unconscious most of the time, the healing, however . . ."

"Can be right painful." She crossed her arms. "What happened to the Healers telling you to gain weight?"

"I'm eating five times a day, but I can't seem to gain more than a pound. Maman took me back last week and they ran tests, but they couldn't find any lingering curses."

"How much are you exercising?"

"I'm running three times a day," Fleur said, "two miles each, plus strengthening work for my leg on top of practicing spells."

"Why are you pushing yourself that hard?"

"Azzurra didn't tell you?"

"Nope," Médée answered. "She's good at keeping confidences."

Fleur finished getting dressed. "As soon as I'm strong enough, and can figure out how to find 'Arry, I'm headed back to England."

Médée caught her breath. "And if you run into a Death Eater?"

"Don't know, I'll have to find out when it happens, I guess."

"I have a better idea." Médée got up and headed out the door.

"Where are you—" Fleur started, but she was already gone.

Fleur finish getting dressed and put her towel away. She was in the process of putting her hair in a ponytail when there was another knock on her door.

"It's still open."

Gabrielle stomped in. "Why are you going to Durmstrang?"

"What?"

"Do you need me to speak slower?"

"I, I have no idea what you're talking about," Fleur said.

"Then why did I just hear Médée talking to Professor Sirko and Markus in the Floo?"

"I don't know." Fleur grabbed her wand from the bed, slid it into her pocket, and walked out with Gabrielle in tow.

Médée met her halfway down the hall. "Do you have plans for, oh, say, the next three weeks, or so?"

"Not really," she answered. "I missed too much time at the Ministry and Papa had to hire someone else while I was gone. Why?"

Médée glanced at Gabrielle, then back at her and Fleur caught her meaning. "Gabby, can you give us a couple of minutes?"

"No." Gabrielle glared at the both of them. "You're taking me, so I might as well be here to listen."

The two older Veela looked at each other again.

"I'm not stupid," Gabrielle continued. "You're going up to Durmstrang so you can practice with Markus and the others, right? If what Papa is saying is true, I might as well go too since the war'll be over here before long."

Fleur's jaw snapped shut with an audible click: the wand, the practice, excelling in any kind of offensive spell casting; Gabrielle was getting ready to fight, and the worst part was, there wasn't a thing Fleur could say about it. From what she saw at Hogwarts, it'd be foolish not to be prepared. A picture of Gabby's broken body lying next to the redheaded family forced its way into Fleur's mind, and a lump formed in her throat.

"I appreciate the offer, and training with Markus and the others is tempting, but I can get Papa and Uncle Philippe to duel with me." And keep Gabrielle from getting involved. It was a stupid hope, but that image was too much to bear.

"Maybe," Médée temporized. "But Professor Sorina can help re-train your Veela magic as well after your torpor. Azzurra said the Healers had no idea about that, and some of the Zashtitnik are also into fitness, maybe they can help you balance training and weight gain. Professor Sirko figures the two of you are a package deal, anyway, so he already assumed Gabrielle would be coming with you. It's just until exams and we can continue with her studies. She'll attend classes for the subjects your cousins taught."

There was no way they just set that up in the time it took to Floo the school. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Since you came home, but it wouldn't have been worthwhile until you got your stamina back."

"Please?" Gabrielle asked. "After school's out, who knows where they'll all go. This might be the last chance I have to see everyone."

"Where you in on this?"

"Of course."

That was a stupid question. Why do I feel like all four . . . Markus and the Professor make six, of them are ganging up on me?

Because they worry about you, a voice in the back of her head reminded her.

She decided to listen to that voice. "Are you sure you want to go back?" Fleur asked her sister. "You were there a lot more than I was last semester. It won't be the same without 'Arry, and it won't be easy, either."

"I love him, but my world doesn't revolve around 'Arry," Gabrielle answered. "I'll get over it."

Fleur sighed. As bad as that image had shaken her, leaving Gabrielle untrained would do nothing to make it any less of a possibility. "I guess we're going to Durmstrang."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"What's wrong, Markus? Pretty Veela caught your eye?" Azzurra asked two days later.

Markus canceled the spell and came back at Fleur with a series of nasty hammering curses. She sidestepped the first two and shielded against the third, then launched an orange curse known as a Walk-About. It hit the floor of the training room and exploded in twenty different directions, taking his legs out from under him, or it would have, if he hadn't been ready for it.

Damn, Fleur thought when he timed his jump and followed up with a shield to protect himself. She was about to go on the offensive again when everything went black.

"Are you okay?"

She opened her eyes to see Professor Sirko smiling down at her, along with Gabrielle, Azzurra, and Markus. "What happened?"

"My boyfriend conjured a boulder over your head and dropped it."

The Professor chuckled at the dirty look Fleur gave Markus. "The dueling wards took care of it, you got stunned instead. After the snake Harry cast last fall, we made some improvements so there'd be no accidents.

Markus offered her a hand. "You almost got me that time. I keep forgetting that you've had real-life experience. It changes how a person fights."

"How's that?" Gabrielle asked.

"First," Professor Sirko cut in, "they know that you can't cast and watch. You always have to be moving, make fluid transitions from offensive to defensive and back to offensive spells."

"You can't hold back, either," Markus continued. "The spells have to be decisive and powerful, and to hell with decorum or worrying about whether the spell is acceptable in polite society."

She hadn't thought about it like that, but sure enough, that was how she fought every time she'd been in the middle of a battle.

Gabrielle pursed her lips and listened until they finished explaining. "So, when is it my turn?"

Markus looked to Fleur.

She shrugged. "She's of age."

Markus nodded and stepped back to his place. "How much training have you had?"

"The usual," Gabrielle said.

Fleur tried not to laugh. _The usual _didn't involve a dueling club or a hundred and thirty Galleon custom-made wand that she watched the little Imp master over the last three weeks.

"Ready?" Markus asked. "I'll go a slow so you can follow along, then I'll start casting harder and faster to see how good you are, okay?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Sure."

The way the word rolled off her tongue made Fleur groan. Azzurra and Professor Sirko both looked at her. "I know that voice."

Before she could say anything else, Markus hit Gabrielle in the stomach with a light Stinging Jinx. She doubled over and started crying.

"I'm sorry!" Markus was halfway across the gym when Gabrielle jumped to her feet and drove her Veela magic into him. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees, his eyes enraged with lust. She hit him with a stunner and knocked him out.

"How was that?" she asked.

"Not funny!" Fleur jumped off the bench and headed toward Markus, the others followed.

"What did I do wrong?"

Fleur huffed. "Cast the _Rennervate_ spell and wake him up."

Markus shook the cobwebs out from his head. "What. The. Hell. Was. That?"

"A little Veela power," Gabrielle answered. "You said 'to hell with decorum,' so . . ."

Markus turned bright red and cursed under his breath. Azzurra made that cute little noise in the back of her throat that Fleur remembered Harry talking about, then wrapped her arms around Markus. "Do you need some alone time now to ah, work out your issues?"

"Very funny," he pulled away from her and walked back to the lockers.

Azzurra's eyes widened and she bit her lip in surprise at his reaction.

"Let me," Fleur said. She caught a little of the emotion that rushed through him and wanted to make sure he knew it wasn't his fault.

She made her way him. "You okay?"

He shook his head. "Before dating Azzurra, I had a reputation of, um . . . not respecting the boundaries of my relationships."

"Cheating?" Fleur clarified.

"Yeah, that too." He took a drink from the bottle of water that sat in his locker. "And that was just the tip of the wand. I wasn't a nice person. Anyway, I've changed, but when I started dating Azzurra, she warned me that it'd take just one time, I didn't even have to do anything, it just had to look bad, and it would be over."

"Just how bad—" Fleur covered her mouth with a hand and gave a little blush at her faux pas. "Never mind, that's none of my business."

"That's okay; I was bad enough that I'm glad I'm not him anymore."

Fleur pulled a chair up next to his locker. "You must have liked Azzurra a lot."

"I did, but I already decided to be different before we started dating."

"That's a hard journey to walk, I've had similar experiences."

Markus snorted. "I doubt it. In my sixth year I was juggling two witches, even playing them off each other. I bragged about it one night just before the end of the fall term. Viktor got so mad he climbed out of bed, crossed the room, then picked me up by my robes and slammed against the wall.

"He told me that one of the witches was twisted up so tight that she was having problems with accidental magic again. That morning, she shattered an entire row of mirrors in the bathroom and sent a room full of witches to the Healer, some of them with serious wounds. Jaleena was one of them, though she wasn't hurt that bad. The witch left school the next day and never came back, too ashamed, I guess.

"Viktor and I were best friends, but he loved Jaleena. A strange relationship, that one, I think the only reason they didn't date was that they were distantly related and Veela have to be very careful about that." Markus's breath caught and he blinked a couple of times. Fleur could see the loss of his friend still weighing on him. "He didn't speak to me for the next week or through that Christmas break. That's when I realized how much of a _Giftzwerg _I'd become."

"_Giftzwerg_?"

"Bastard."

"Ahh," Fleur said. "And then after all that, Gabby. . ."

"Yeah, and she's what, fourteen?"

"Almost fifteen," Fleur corrected, "but you shouldn't feel guilty about her age, she's a full Veela adult, nor seeing what you did since she's the one that pushed the images."

A pained smile creased his lips. "I noticed."

She took him by the hand. It felt strange, but also right, as if her Veela nature was guiding her in the exact right way to comfort him. "At least you have blackmail material on my sister now; I may have to buy those memories off you, just in case."

He laughed. "She's definitely a wicked little thing, isn't she?"

"That she is, and I'm not too happy with her at the moment. Using her magic to turn your sexuality against you like that when her life isn't being threatened is borderline criminal. She and I are going to have a serious talk."

"Don't get too mad at her, I'm the idiot that just told her not to worry about what spells she cast."

The doors to the training room opened and Professor Sorina walked in, followed by Petra. Fleur made her way back to the group still holding Markus's hand, and placed it in Azzurra's.

The newcomers joined the circle. "How are you feeling?" Petra asked Fleur.

"Good, I didn't expect to see you here."

"I have to make sure the French Veela aren't corrupting my god-daughter, don't I."

Azzurra cuffed her on the arm. "Petra comes by about this time every year to give a two-day lecture in Professor Sorina's Veela class."

"Since when do you like to ruin my fun?" Petra asked. She turned toward Gabrielle. "You're Fleur's sister, right?"

"Cheating little monster of a sister is more like it," Fleur cut in.

Gabrielle shot Fleur an annoyed look. "I didn't mean it. I mean, I meant to do it, but, I uh, didn't think about the results, or what his thoughts would be with that much magic." She looked at Markus. "I'm sorry. Azzurra explained to me the consequences of pushing that much magic out, I didn't intend for you to um, to think about . . ." Her face grew beat red.

Professor Sorina scowled. "Wait a minute, are you telling that you took control of Markus through Veela magic?"

Gabrielle looked all of five years old at that moment. "Y-yes."

Fleur could see the tears forming and took mercy on her. "Professor, I know Maman and Grandma have tried to explain our heritage, but it's been hit and miss, I couldn't begin to tell you how upside-down our lives have been over the last few months."

Professor Sirko and she communicated through a couple glances and shoulder shrugs. "In that case," she said. "I think Gabrielle will attend my class the rest of this year. My level ones have just started the practical lessons, so it should be just about right for you."

"I think that would be a good idea," Gabrielle said, still red-cheeked. "Thank you."

Petra cleared her throat. "Now that's settled, whose turn was it to duel?"

"We were just finishing," Markus said.

"That's a shame. I haven't had a good duel in quite some time." She grinned. "Anyone want to take me on? Professor?"

Professor Sirko rolled his wand across his fingertips. "I have wondered how well I'd do against a member of the Zekānōt, and I doubt I'd ever get the chance again." He grinned. "What are the rules?"

"Is this a standard dueling ward?"

"Even better, they're competition wards," he answered.

"Then no hand-to-hand fighting, or claw-to-hand, as the case may be, other than that. . . ."

"I'm okay with that," the Professor said. "But no Veela magic, either. I'm too old and those images would probably give me a heart attack, anyway."

"Oh please," Petra teased, "don't play up the 'old man' role, I know how good you are at dueling."

"Me?" he asked. "I would never!" He turned to the rest of them in the room. "You're about to get a real treat. There aren't many who can claim to have seen a member of the Zekānōt fight. Markus, time me and see how long I last. If you're taking bets, place mine at forty-five seconds."

"That's it?" Markus asked. "I've seen you fight before."

"Not against a Flock Leader." He took his place and bowed. "Thank you for the privilege."

Petra giggled. "You're welcome."

Fleur cocked an eyebrow. That was the last thing she expected to hear from someone as majestic as—lesson learned: use everything you have when you're fighting.

That was Fleur's last free thought. A surge of magic ran through her and the hair on her arms stood on end; she barely restrained herself from transforming, but her body hummed, her muscles taut, and her hands tingled even as her eyes locked on to Professor Sirko: the threat, the enemy, the one that must to die when the fighting began—

"Fleur! Gabrielle!"

Both heads snapped toward Azzurra and she hammered on both Delacour sisters with her magic, commanding them to submit. Petra's magic settled behind Azzurra's, willing them to accept the temporary authority. Fleur fought to do so, but only succeeded in shoving her magic down with a much effort. She could feel Gabrielle trying to do the same.

When they both were back under control, Azzurra released them from her magic. "Sorry, but if I didn't, it wouldn't have been pretty."

"What just happened?" Gabrielle asked.

"That's a Veela's response when the Zekānōt go to war." Azzurra looked at Fleur and there was a slight edge to her voice when she continued. "Maybe now you understand one of the reasons my family consistently chooses against it. They'd rather not command Veela to their deaths. I may disagree with my mother's feelings toward the Wizarding world, but at least I can respect their position."

"I think I can too, after that," Fleur answered, still somewhat beside herself. She gazed back up at Petra, who nodded to her in a show of respect.

Then she turned back to the Professor and tittered. "I'm ready," she sang out.

Fleur watched amazed at how the Flock Leader used every element of her being, Veela, witch, and female, as a weapon, to play on the Professor's old-fashioned ideas of chivalry. It was a lesson to remember.

She didn't get a chance to think pursue that thought any further when a light flashed and Professor Sirko's wand appeared. His curses instantly descended upon Petra from multiple angles and she leapt off the floor, now in her warrior form. Large white wings held her aloft and her eyes, the same color as her wings, blazed with no pupil or iris. A thin, white garment covered her body.

Petra pushed herself above the curses and a fireball the size of a Bludger appeared. She hurled it towards the Professor. Fleur watched it double in size, double again, and then double once more before the six-and-a-half-foot inferno engulfed the floor where the Professor was just standing. Petra's wand was in motion, but she stopped.

Where did he go?

A green light shot straight up underneath her and an enraged cry escaped her lips, she rolled to the side and free-fell thirty feet, then spread her wings and righted herself, her wand already conjuring a sandstorm that outlined the Professor about twenty feet away and rendered his Invisibility Spell useless.

Curses of every color lit up the space between them and another fireball streaked across the room, exploding against a newly conjured stone wall.

The Professor brought the wall down and if Fleur didn't know better, she would have thought the next nine seconds of spells were all one continuous cast.

Petra landed and conjured a fire-beast the size of a lion, but sleek and fast like a panther. It raced towards the Professor. He touched his robes with his wand and they glowed blue, then he disappeared, reappearing on the other side of the room, and took aim at the Veela's back.

She rocketed straight up, twisting as she went and released her wand. Petra clenched both hands and dual fireballs raced toward the Professor, each expanding to the size of a small house, and then before Fleur could blink, Petra's wand was somehow in her hand again. Wandless magic? Fleur wondered. Whatever it was, it was downright impressive to do in the middle of a duel.

But the Professor matched her stride for stride. Three quick flicks of the wrist and benches, lockers, and anything else that was loose converged on the Veela. He followed up with another series of curses that looped away from him and came at her from her upper left and right side, boxing her in.

Petra thrust her arms back and a sphere of fire erupted, swallowing up everything in its path except the curses. She elevated over them and surged through the air, working both hands in tandem; fire and curses fell upon the Professor like the punishment of an angry god.

The wards flashed and it all disappeared except for one last ball of fire that she had thrown just as they kicked in. The wards flashed a second time. The fireball disappeared and Petra yelped, her body went rigid and she crashed to the ground.

"Release!" Markus commanded.

Fleur was so caught up in what just happened that she jumped three inches off the bench at the sound of his voice.

The wards obeyed and Petra shook her head, then shifted back into her human form.

"Are you okay?" the Professor asked, lying on the floor trying to catch his breath.

"I am, I was already throwing my last bolide when the wards went off, I didn't mean—"

"Don't worry about," he cut her off. "I'm just glad you didn't get hurt by them. How long did I last?"

"A minute, thirteen seconds," Markus answered.

Petra walked over to the professor and helped him up. "That was the best duel I've had in years. We may have to do this again."

The professor gave her a rueful chuckle. "No, thank you, I'd rather not have nightmares about angels with a fire fetish."

Her lips twitched and she touched his cheek, then she turned to the others. "Markus, would you conjure two wizard replicas, please? And while you're at it, add a few targets around the room."

"Sure," he answered.

Petra walked over and stood in front of Fleur. "There are other ways Veela can fight. Take note."

Fleur felt a surge of magic again and from her peripheral vision, something streaked out from her right. She turned just in time to see Professor Sorina sprinting towards the center, already transformed. She leapt into the air, her wings beating hard to give her extra height.

Petra reappeared from Fleur's left, back in her warrior form. Both Veela descended on the replicas, their claw-like feet caught purchase, ripping the heads clean off the bodies. Professor Sorina landed, her wand out, and one, two, three targets shattered in the space of a second and a half. Petra unfurled her wings and glided back to Fleur, never losing momentum.

She landed and transformed back into her human form. "As I said, in a real war, Veela must use everything we have. That means your intelligence, your magic, your femininity, and your physical strength; a Veela leaves nothing out. Do you understand me, Little Chicken?"

The Flock Leader standing before Fleur radiated majesty and power. "Yes, Madame Albescu."

"Good." Petra shifted to Gabrielle. "And I do mean everything, but that's only when you're battling in a life or death situation."

Gabrielle nodded.

"Then I think I've made my point." She faced Azzurra. "Is dinner at the same time?"

"It is," Azzurra answered. "And thank you."

"You're welcome."

Fleur spun back to face Azzurra. "Did you. . ."

"Markus can't teach you to fight like Veela," Azzurra reminded her. "And I think a few of us want you to stay around for a while." Azzurra glanced at Gabrielle, who was beaming her approval, then took the younger Veela by the hand and led her out through the doors.

"Come on," Markus said. "We might as well follow them to the Dining Hall."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Apolline checked the clock on her night table before rolling over and tracing her fingers across her husband's chest in the pre-dawn light. "You tossed and turned all night, did you get any sleep?"

"No."

"Why not?" she asked.

He groaned. "I, I don't know what to do."

Her fingers stopped moving. Did she hear him right? She propped herself up on her other elbow. "Jacque?"

"What?" He looked lost, confused. She slid her arms around him. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

In the background, the second-hand ticked fifteen times.

"I found out yesterday that for the last six months, Anselme's been visiting Healers for a degenerative disease. He's been taking potions that, as a side effect, diminish the ability to cast off the Imperius Curse among other things, but nobody bothered telling him."

"How did he find that out?"

"The last few weeks he's been clearing his desk of any remaining work; it was part of the deal the Ministry offered him. Yesterday was supposed to be his last day, so he sat with the Retirement Wizard and went over the few benefits that weren't stripped from him. He asked if his potions would still be covered."

Jacque took a shaky breath. "The Retirement Wizard called the hospital to find out more about what the potions were for and a Potion-Master became suspicious that a Retirement Wizard from the Ministry would be interested in a potion that made people susceptible to influence."

He looked away from her eyes. "Since this all happened, Anselme hasn't been able to afford the full potion treatments over the last few weeks, even with his benefits, so he cut them in half. He spent an hour yesterday throwing off the Imperius Curse left, right, and center. It had nothing to do with his training."

She buried her head in his chest. "What's wrong with our Healers that they keep botching everything up?"

"It does seem like that, doesn't it?" he asked.

She huffed. "So what's going to happen to Anselme?"

"First, I'm going to break his nose again for not telling us he's sick." There was a strange timbre in his voice. "Then, Philippe and I are going to make a few Floo calls and see if we can't get his full retirement restored with back pay."

She pulled back in surprise. "You're not trying to get his job back?"

"No." He rolled over and laid his head on her chest, something he did only in the rarest of occasions. "I'd rather he takes the potion and stop whatever is trying to destroy his body."

"Destroy his . . . he's dying? Jacque, are you telling me that Anselme is dying? No wonder you're so upset!"

"It'll be years, even decades before it takes his life, though he'll most likely lose his magic before that, but I'm more upset that I don't care. I mean . . . I do, but _my family _was hurt: 'Arry and Fleur almost died, Remus and Sirius did, and who knows how many others; I still feel betrayed by one of my best friends, even though it wasn't his fault."

He rolled over on his back and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "And yet, if I ignore him, then I'm betraying one of my best friends, I'm doing the one thing that I'm so mad at him for, and this time, there's no excuse."

She ran her hand across his chest again, willing herself to wait silently for her husband to continue, which he finally did.

"And now, both of my daughters are up at Durmstrang, something I am _not _comfortable with."

"But I thought you trusted Professor Sirko?"

"I do," he reassured her. "But something doesn't feel right and I can't figure out what it is, particularly with Fleur."

"Ahh, I think I know what it is."

"You do?" he asked.

She cuffed him on the shoulder. "Don't look so surprised! You're wife is smarter than you think."

"I never said otherwise. So what am I feeling?"

She frowned. He usually was more playful than this, even in serious conversations. She felt a twinge of pain in her heart for him, realizing just how weighed down he was with everything that was happening around him. "You've seen Fleur pushing her body harder than she ever has before so she can go back to Britain to save 'Arry, and you know that she went to Durmstrang to get help in learning how to do it. You don't like it, because she's your little girl, and it should be you facing the danger, not her. Is that like what you're feeling?"

He grimaced. "Yeah, something exactly like that."

"Just so you know, I don't like it either," she soothed. "But she is Veela, and you know as well as I that when Veela chose to love someone as deeply as she has, there's not much that can stop us."

"I know," he admitted. "And usually, I am overjoyed by that fact, but. . ."

"But now, instead of it being your wife waiting for you to come home from a war, it's your daughter going after someone else in the middle of one."

"Maybe we can chain her down until it's all over."

She couldn't help but smile. "I doubt it'd help. There's nothing we can do, it's the Veela way."

He sighed. "And that is why, for the first time, I wish none of you were Veela."

Apolline drew a finger down the bridge of his nose, not offended in the least. She knew what he meant. "Papa warned you that being a father to Veela was difficult, even more so since you're so protective of your family."

"I know, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No, I'm sure you don't."

He looked at her from the corners of his eyes. "How can you be so calm about this?"

"Because I remember what it was like standing up to Papa and telling him I wasn't going to move in with them for my safety; this was my home, you were my husband, and I was going to wait here until you got home every night so I could take care of you, and that was final. He wasn't too happy about it, either."

Jacque closed his eyes. "I remember you telling me. He didn't even know you were in as much danger as Fleur will be, if not more."

"What do you mean?"

"The Death Eaters weren't happy with you trying to incite your Flock to go to war against them. I also know about the few skirmishes you all got into."

She gasped. "How did—" She stopped and modulated her voice. "Sorry, dramatic Veela genes kicking in. I never told you about that. How did you find out?"

She could see the corners of his lips turning up. It wasn't often he caught her short. "Where do I work, Apolline? Who are my closest friends? Of course I knew, and I was damn proud of you, too, worried and scared to death as well, but you are who you are, I knew that and I loved you for it, still do."

"Then you also understand why Fleur is doing what she has to do. It's what I would have done, though she'll be hundred times better at it."

"I hope so, damn Veela."

"Oh, there are some benefits to being a Veela." She traced a fingernail down his chest, under the covers, and under his boxers, stopping at just the right spot. "If we're not going to go to back to sleep, I have an idea."

He raised an eyebrow and she leaned over and kissed him. "This conversation is just another example of why I love you, and right now, I want to remind you of that."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry leaned against the wall, waiting for the brown-haired wizard with a pencil mustache to exit the Ministry. Twice he thought he had him and followed the wrong person. Not this time though, the wizard walked straight toward him, headed into the alley. He followed. It had to be timed just right.

In the safety of the alley, the wizard turned on the spot and Disapparated, but not before something landed on the back of his neck.

Harry cast a spell on the street and looked for the telltale shimmer that he'd missed, but it wasn't there. Good. If everything went well and the wizard didn't shower until the morning, the miniature Portkey that hitched a ride with him should activate in about nine hours, yanking him out of bed and to the spot where Harry would be waiting.

It was time for the traitor to have a little talk with Death.


	21. Death's Anniversary

.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Death's Anniversary**

An Asian witch appeared and raised four fingers, made a fist, then displayed all five. Nine Death Eaters. The Leader and his six mates had faced worse odds, but not by much. He regripped his wand and confirmed that his team, split along the front and side wall of the farmhouse, was ready, and then thrust both hands forward. The two Aurors in tonight's raid launched a series of Ward Detection Charms, then shifted to Dismantling Spells.

"Their down!" A deep voice announced.

Merlin's beard! The Leader had laughed when they promised to break the wards within fifteen seconds, but eight? He owed them an apology. A wicked smile pulled at his lips and a hunger grew in his belly. These were the moments for which Neville Longbottom now lived.

"Kill the bastards!"

Seven spells pierced walls in a violent show of magical power. Neville's unit breached along the side of the farmhouse, engaging the smaller group of four that lounged in a living room. Death Eaters rose from their seats, but Neville's Bludgeoning Curse destroyed the closest man's chest before he could stand. To his left, Cho's Killing Curse snuffed a wizard. And beyond her, Susan Bones stunned her target, then collaborated with Cho, sending Killing Curses at the last remaining wizard in their area of responsibility.

Neville looked past the carnage into the Dining Room, where Marcus Flint's sub-unit had launched a devastating hail of multi-colored curses. They decimated the larger group, allowing only one Death Eater to launch a spell at them, it was blackish-red and shot to Neville's left. Cutters and Killing Curses corrected the oversight.

Marcus lowered his wand. "Dining area's cleared, hallway ahead."

"Take Adrian," Neville answered. "Remember Newquay and be careful." He watched them disappear into the hallway when Cho's panicked voice caught his attention. He spun, and found her lowering an unconscious Susan Bones to the floor. A ball of lead formed in his stomach as he approached.

"How bad?" he asked when he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Almost finished." She passed her wand over Susan's body once, then twice. "There, I can't find any permanent damage, but I'd feel better if Marcus back-checked me."

"I'll get him."

No sooner did he finish speaking when Adrian's voice rang through the house. "I'll kill you, you summabitch!"

Neville sprinted through the front room and into the hall, wand in hand. He entered the far bedroom in time to see Adrian drive a knee into the stomach of a Death Eater, then follow with a double-fisted blow to the back of the head that crumpled the wizard.

Opposite him, Marcus connected with a right hook that buckled the knees of a second Death Eater, then lamped him with a shot to the jaw. Two sickening _cracks _echoed in the room and Marcus cradled his arm against his chest. "Bloody hell, I broke my wrist."

Neville shook his head. "Then use a wand, you berk! Hold your hand up." He hit it with a Numbing Charm, then watched Marcus flex his fingers a couple of times. "Better?"

"A bit, it might be time to teach Cho some new Bone-Healing Charms."

"Speaking of which, I need you to check Susan; she took a curse to the chest."

"How bad?"

"Cho thinks she's fine, but wants your opinion. I'll stay with Adrian and clean up. Also, skip the new stuff tonight and get Cho to cast a normal Healing Charm on you, I don't want us down a wand unnecessarily."

"You're probably right, it can wait." Marcus retrieved his wand and left the room.

When they were alone, Adrian, who was rifling through the Death Eater's pockets, asked, "Is Susan really okay?"

"I'm pretty sure she is. Cho's just doubting herself again."

Adrian flipped the Death Eater over, paying no mind to the man's head bouncing off the hardwood floor, and started on his back pockets. "Doubting herself, eh? There's a surprise."

Neville scowled. "That's not fair, she's busting her arse to learn Healing Charms."

Adrian shrugged, but a few moments later, he stood, his nostrils flaring in anger. "Bloody Death Eaters!" He launched a kick at the man's ribs. "Not even a Portkey! Are you serious!"

"Pucey!" Neville barked.

Adrian took a deep breath and relaxed, then looked back at Neville. "You're right, sorry. It's just . . . before we breached, that uneasiness I felt in Newquay returned. Then you go and mention the place, Susan gets cursed because we overlooked another wand, then we split to cover parts of a building that we had no prior knowledge of. At this point, I'd be more shocked if Cho _wasn't _doubting herself. It's Newquay all over again, just not as bad."

Adrian's Death Eater moaned and Neville stunned him before answering. "It's nothing of the sort. Get over it and remember what Shacklebolt said, 'If you live in the past, you'll die in the present.' Let it go."

"I know, but—"

Neville cuffed him on the shoulder. "Shut it, I don't want to hear a 'but', understand? You didn't Bollocks it up then, and you sure as hell didn't tonight." He smirked. "Until you and Marcus lost your wands."

"My hand still stings from that."

"So what happened?"

"Marcus was first-wizard-in." Adrian rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "He saw something to his left and I noticed the bloke to his right. . . it's a shame you didn't grow up Muggle."

"Why's that?"

A little grin finally creased Adrian's lips. "We crossed the streams."

Neville raised an eyebrow.

"Great movie" Adrian said. "Don't cross the streams, it's bad."

"What do you mean, bad?"

Cho picked that moment to walk through the door. "All life as you know it stopping instantaneously, total protonic reversal. Susan's okay, but she needs to rest."

"Good," Neville said. "Did Marcus recognize the spell?"

"Peruvian Energy Depletion Hex. He learned it during Pride of Portree's South American tour. I'm guessing the Quidditch there was brutal."

Adrian snorted. "Ask about his game in Manaus. He swears that scar on his leg came from a piranha a Chaser summoned from the Amazon."

Neville chuckled. Marcus's stories were legendary, and the deeper they plunged into a bottle of firewhisky, the more legendary they grew. "I'll remember that next time."

"It's worth it." Adrian turned to Cho. "By the way, where did you learn about crossing the streams? You're not Muggle-born."

"My next-door neighbor married a Muggle. It's their favorite movie." She raised her chin at the Death Eaters. "Are we taking them with us?"

"Nothing here says 'inner circle,'" Neville answered. "I doubt they'll know anything worth the risk. Are they marked?"

"Mine is," Adrian said.

Cho rolled the Death Eater's forearm over with her foot. "Ahh, look at that, poor boy's been freshly branded. I hope he said goodbye to mummy."

The hair on the back of Neville's neck stood on end. He hated that voice, that false empathy laced with an undertone of vapid joy. Moreover, he hated what this war was doing to her, to all of them. He also hated how easy the war made his next order. "Kill them."

Neville entered the main room and found Susan awake. "How are you feeling?"

"Knackered beyond thought, but Quidditch-boy says that's normal."

Marcus ignored the jab. "It's a nasty little hex. She needs bed rest for a few days."

"Then grab Adrian when he comes out and Apparate Susan to the house, but I want you both to stay with her until we get back."

"Will do, Guv'nor."

Neville rolled his eyes at Marcus's cheek and walked toward the Aurors that joined the night's raid. "Find anything?"

Tonks offered a small bag of papers. "Tonight's prize, it's not much." They both watched Adrian and Cho reenter the room. Marcus called Adrian over and explained how he wanted to move Susan, then Adrian slipped an arm around her other side and they eased her through the largest of the breaching-holes.

Tonks turned back to Neville. "We'll contact you sometime next week. Keep your wand high and your arse safe."

Adrian glanced back over his shoulder. "Hey, Tonks, how high _do _you want his wand?"

She rewarded him with a two-fingered response that he found hilarious, and his laughter forced the corner of Tonks's lip to pull up, but it went no further. She gestured to the others. "Good luck, Neville. Keep 'em safe, you have good people."

"Same to you and Charlie."

Tonks grew rigid, but Neville decided it wasn't his business and changed the topic. "Let me know if you hear anything about Harry, if he was dead, the Death Eaters would've paraded his body through Diagon Alley."

Her jaw snapped shut. "We've talked about this before."

"And you're still wrong."

Her skin flushed. "Grow up! And stop wasting your breath on stupid shit. Adrian and Marcus _both _saw Remus and my cousin get killed, and we never found their bodies, either. Harry is dead. They're all dead. Wrap your thick skull around that fact and move on!" She spun on her heel walked out.

Neville turned to her partner, befuddled. "What's that about?"

"Charlie's gone on a mission," Shacklebolt answered. "A bad one, from what I understand. So I decided it'd be better for us to tag along with your lot tonight than sitting at home getting more brassed off by the minute."

Neville snuck a glance at her breach in the wall. It was twice the normal size. "I'd say so; remind me never to land on her bad side."

Shacklebolt threw his head back and a deep, booming laughter filled the house. "So, Chaos fears a little witch named Nymphadora Tonks. Imagine that."

"Oh belt up! I swear I'm gonna curse the reporter who popularized that name straight into the grave."

Shacklebolt left, his laughter trailing behind him. Five minutes later, Neville and the rest of his team Apparated to an abandoned building in the middle of Muggle London.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

About that same time, but hundreds of miles away, a _Chronos _Charm indicated that Harry had ten seconds until his Portkey arrived. He tightened the leather keeping his hair back and checked the cave one last time.

A soft thump announced the visitor's arrival. Harry hit him with an _Immobulus_ Spell, then used a Diagnostic Charm to check for tracking. Satisfied, he side-Apparated the wizard to a second cave, then once again to a third.

Moonlight filtered in high above their heads, beating back the shadows enough that Harry could study the malnourished git. First impression: he should dump the pencil mustache. It made him look too much like a bloke on Dudley's specialVHS tapes.

Harry shook the errant thought and cast a _Rennervate_ spell.

"Where am I?"

"Wrong question," Harry said. "_Lumos_."

The wizard shielded his eyes. "Who are you?"

"Still wrong. Let me try. What are you passing to Voldemort?"

The name caused the wizard to flinch. "I've never—"

Harry slammed his foot into the man's chest and he toppled backwards into the dirt. "Let's try this again. What are you passing to Voldemort?"

"I . . . I can't tell you"—the wizard gasped for breath—"they'll kill me."

"Then you have a problem, because if you don't tell me, I'll kill you. I'm sure your wife'll enjoy waking up next to a bloody corpse in the morning."

The wizard blanched. "Please, you don't understand, Death Eaters threatened my family. I have a daughter, a first year. She lived through the Hogwarts Massacre—"

"What's her name?"

The question must have sparked a protective trait in the wizard. He rose to his knees and faced Harry. "Go to hell!"

Harry's foot collided with his face and he tumbled back into the dirt. "Her name!" Harry demanded.

"If you touch her . . ."

"You'll do what?" he asked. "Empty threats are worthless." Harry let that sink in before continuing. "Look, I have no desire towards an innocent girl, I was just curious if I knew her. You, however, are not so innocent. That means I'm going to take pleasure in killing you if you don't answer my bleedin' question. Now!"

The wizard dipped his head. "Emma, Emma Dobbs. Please, don't . . ."

Dobbs . . . Dobbs . . . why did it sound familiar? Wasn't she—

"Gryffindor!" announced the Sorting Hat. Dennis Creevey grinned, removed the Hat, then ran across the Great Hall and joined his brother at the table. "Look!" said Colin, pointing toward Harry. "Guess who that is!"

Harry expected it, but still didn't like, or even want the attention, so instead, he focused on the next firstie.

"Emma Dobbs," Professor McGonagall called. A brown-haired girl inched her way to the Sorting Hat. She was such a tiny girl that the hat fell straight over her eyes and rested on the bridge of her nose. Harry smiled.

"She lived?"

"She did, we were lucky."

"You were," he agreed. "Most of the others died that night."

"I know."

"You know?" Harry's skin prickled. "You know, but you don't care at all, do you?"

"Of course I care!"

"Then why are you betraying Dumbledore, the professors, and the hundreds of students who fought against Death Eaters so Emma could escape? You care my arse." Harry shook with rage. "I should kill you now!"

"No! Wait, it's not like that, they threatened me, and they know where I live. Every day I Apparate home, fearing a Dark Mark hovering over my house and my family murdered because I've buggered something up."

"So instead, you pass on information that Death Eaters use to murder other families? You have yours, so bugger the rest! Is that how it is, Mr. Dobbs?"

"Damn you! No, it's not!"

"Liar! Your information has helped murder three Ministry workers. Don't bother trying to justify yourself!" He canceled his _Lumos_ Spell, then his wand flicked again.

"They were Death Eaters!" Mr. Dobbs cried. "I promise!"

Harry stopped just before he released a Pain Curse. "Repeat that?"

"Death Eaters." Mr. Dobbs said again. "Yes, I pass information along, but it's all office gossip. Every once in a while I pass along something to cast doubt on one of his Death Eaters. That's who he killed."

Harry blinked, then blinked again. He hated it when a Snitch suddenly changed direction. "If you're so afraid of Death Eaters, then why risk your family by manipulating Voldemort?"

"I didn't say I was afraid of them. I said I was afraid of what they'd do to my family. If I raised my wand against them, they'd murder my wife and daughter, maybe even make it a public execution to 'prove a point.' That's why my weapons are paperwork and office gossip." He squared his shoulders. "You fight this war your way; I'll fight it mine, and if you don't it, then sod off!"

Harry leaned against the wall of the cave. No matter how much he wished otherwise, Mr. Dobbs wasn't wrong, and that meant that Harry's black and white world just turned gray. Blimey, why couldn't this be easier?

"I planned to kill you tonight for working with Voldemort, but now . . . how do I know you won't betray me?"

Mr. Dobbs closed his eyes. "Augustus Rookwood. That's who I lied about, and I'll tell you everything I know. If you believe I'm trying to play both sides against the middle, get a message to You-Know-Who. I only ask that you warn me first so I can get my family to safety."

"This might hurt—_Legilmens_!" He dove into the man's thoughts, and crashed against the meager natural self-defenses an adult wizard's mind erects. It felt worse than beaking the mountain on his broom. Harry rubbed his temples. If he ever saw Markus again, they'd have words about this particular lapse in his training. His second try was slower, and while he had very little skill in the art, he did find subtle hints that the wizard was being honest.

Five minutes later, he conjured a piece of paper and a self-inking quill. "Write a note to yourself: if you betray those who oppose Voldemort, you'll die, painfully."

"You're letting me go?"

"I'm a killer, not a murderer. This conversation'll be removed, then I'll send you home."

The wizard deflated. "Thank Merlin, I thought I was dead."

"You almost were." He gestured to the paper. "Write."

Mr. Dobbs put quill to parchment, then hesitated. "May I ask you something?"

Harry crossed his arms, wondering if Mr. Dobbs might yet earn a Killing Curse. "It's your life."

"You used a Portkey to get me out of my house, right?"

"And if I did?"

"Don't do it again. I can't afford Portkeys wards, but most others probably can, and since Portkeys retain remnants of the creator's magic, the Ministry can retrieve and analyze any Portkey deactivated by wards. Once they have that, then _every _Portkey they find, used or not, they can test against it. They won't determine who you are, but they'll track every Portkey made and eventually, they'll establish a pattern."

"So?"

"If they know your patterns, they'll set ambushes."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?"

"I work in Magical Transportation; we developed the Magical Detection Charms for Portkeys in the first war to catch Death Eaters who were Muggle-trapping. They'd use the poor bastards for entertainment. But this time around, _You-Know-Who_ controls the Ministry, so they've turned it against us. I heard that they almost caught Chaos a few months ago."

"Then, what do you suggest? I quit and go on home?"

Mr. Dobbs smiled. "Of course, not. Use house-elves. We can track neither them nor their magic."

House-elves? Was that why the Ministry believed he committed underage magic before his second year? If they couldn't track Dobby, then . . . "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. No one's even tried to track them, let alone develop proper wards. The problem, however, is finding a house-elf that's willing to help. I'd suggest one that's unbound, but they're very dangerous."

You have no idea, Mr. Dobbs, Harry thought. The night Dobby appeared at the Burrow, that little blighter slipped through the wards without a problem, and he looked more like a minor demon than a house-elf. _Dangerous_, doesn't even come close to being the proper word for them. "I'd say 'thank you,' but you're not going to remember it."

He hit Mr. Dobbs with one of Voldemort's favorite Memory Charms, then sent him home via Portkey and slumped against the wall. Somewhere he'd read that plans never survived first contact with the enemy, but Mr. Dobbs wasn't even an enemy, and his plans still didn't survive! The bright spot, however, was that the person atop Pansy's "Ministry list" might be playing a similar game. At least he hoped, or it'd be a frightful meeting.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A week later, Harry sat atop another roof in Knockturn Alley, studying a dilapidated two-story building across the street that Pansy identified as a Death Eater haven. Clouds blocked the evening sun, casting everything into a darkish haze. It was perfect for the first anniversary of the Hogwarts Massacre, a full year since they murdered Ron, Hermione, and the others.

Tonight, he'd begin claiming the blood debts owed him, and the entire world would know who came collecting, of that, he was sure.

A fifth wizard in black robes slipped into the building. Harry wondered why they left it unwarded. Either they were incapable of setting them, or overconfident. Whichever it was, they were about to die on account of it. Harry's pulse quickened and he had to focus to quell the blood lust that swelled beneath the surface.

The last expected Death Eater appeared. Harry counted fifty heartbeats, then followed him across the alley and through the door. The bottom floor divided into unused offices on his right, and an old staircase to his left. A slight layer of dust indicated someone had climbed them recently, more than one, actually. Harry cast a Feather-Light Charm on himself, then eased up the rickety stairs, praying that his invisibility cloak would stay in place.

The stairwell opened into a single room that took up the entire second floor. A thick, white area rug lay in the center, and Death Eaters lounged on expensive but mismatched couches surrounding it. They'd disposed of their masks and robes. Harry recognized Crabbe and Goyle, drinking Butterbeer on his left, and to his right, a Slytherin witch, a year older than them rested with a couple of foreign wizards on another couch. A Hufflepuff witch two years Harry's senior poured firewhisky shots on a makeshift counter on the far side of the room.

"Why doesn't Draco come anymore?" she asked the others.

"Dunno," Goyle answered. "We don't see him much since he became part of the Dark Lord's inner circle."

The Slytherin witch snorted. "It's not that difficult. You and Crabbe took a wand up your arse against Longbottom last Christmas, so Draco got smart and distanced himself from your constant failings."

Crabbe set his Butterbeer on the table. "Bite me, you bint!"

"_Jacqueline_ _ist richtig. Er ist nicht_—" One of the foreigner wizards began.

But Goyle cut him off. "Hey, Rhine Monkey, speak English."

The wizard flushed. "If you didn't have the Dark Lord's patronage, I'd kill you."

"Good luck with that, wanker."

"Knock it off." The Hufflepuff witch passed out the shots of firewhisky. "Now, either yank your cranks and out finish the pissing contest, or shut up." She turned to Goyle. "And if you insult Dieter again, _I_ will kill you, and my family enjoys the Dark Lord's patronage as much as yours, so don't think I wouldn't."

"Go get bent," Crabbe said, coming to Goyle's defense. "Draco's recruiting for the Dark Lord, that's why we don't see him."

"Recruiting, my wizarding arse," she answered, then raised her shot of firewhisky, and in a loud voice toasted, "To the Purebloods!" and downed the liquid.

So, Harry thought, either Malfoy was a poster boy for Death Eater recruitment, or he lied to his two best friends. He decided on lying, not that Malfoy's fighting skills impressed anyone, but "I'll write father if you don't join," wasn't going to motivate most wizards to join a Dark Lord.

"Why can't you speak good English?" Goyle said, interrupting Harry's train of thought.

"Why can't you?" Jacqueline asked. "You're a disgrace to Slytherin." Another row began.

They were making it too easy, not that Harry was going to complain. He knelt and slipped his wand under his cloak, then launched a colorless spell, called an "Attention Getter." It arched into the empty firewhisky bottles on the counter. They clanged off each other and fell over, rolling to the floor below where they shattered.

Goyle jumped, his wand in hand. "What was that?"

"Relax," the Hufflepuff said. "Your lazy arse didn't level the counter properly after I spent two hours teaching you that spell. Are you really that incapable?"

"I did it exactly like . . ." His sentence trailed off when black waves of air roiled from behind. They turned as one and saw Harry, his eyes blood-red and his hair splayed out behind him.

"Who the hell are you?" Dieter asked.

He almost smiled. "Death." He jumped to his left to avoid the Bone Breaker the other German launched at him. Harry returned a Killing Curse and watched the wizard collapse. A beat of silence passed, and then curses lit the room.

Harry shielded and reached through his magic to deform the charm. Curses ricocheted at odd angles and the Hufflepuff witch caught Goyle's Cutting Curse in the neck. She slapped a hand over the gash, but blood spurted between her fingers. Crabbe took a spell in the chest and crashed against the couch, flipping it over.

Harry released the shield Charm. "_Acidum Sanguinem_!"

The orange curse hit Dieter in the stomach. He dropped his wand and a moment later, screamed in unholy terror when his blood-turned-acid chewed through his body. His skin bubbled and popped with a hiss.

Goyle shook himself from the grotesque scene and moved to Harry's left, Jacqueline to his right. Another Shield Charm deflected Jacqueline's first volley, and he managed to wand-block Goyle's Bludgeoner just before he felt his wand yanked from his hand. Jacqueline caught it, a look of smug satisfaction plastered on her face.

But Harry didn't stop; he leaped forward and slammed a fist into the bridge of Goyle's nose, then spun him around, pulling Goyle tight against his chest as a shield. With his other hand, he stripped Goyle of his wand and aimed for the Slytherin witch. "_Retro Conteram_!"

A strangled cry escaped Jacqueline's lips and she dove, the Back Breaker grazing her sleeve. Damn! Goyle's wand was too slow! Harry spun Goyle back around, held him by the hair, and drove another fist into his throat. Goyle went down hard, gasping for breath.

Harry, still with Goyle's wand in hand, hit Jacqueline with a Disarming Spell. His wand sailed toward him, but he also noticed Jacqueline reaching for hers, which was still on the floor. She must have dropped it when she fell.

He Apparated across the room and leveled his wand at her. "_Suffocatio Mortem_!" He stopped halfway through the release move and looked at his wand, befuddled. What was the final flick? A Bone Crusher caught his left arm and shattered the bone just above the elbow. He cried out in pain, but at least the muscles in his hand clenched, saving his life by releasing the Holding Charm. A brick wall materialized a moment before Goyle's Killing Curse smashed into it.

How did Goyle get his wand back? That's right, Harry dropped it to catch his own. Damn stupid thing to do! He cast a Sticking Charm on his chest and secured his arm, ignoring the tremendous pain. He took a deep breath and commanded himself to focus, and then blasted the wall. Jacqueline took a large chunk of the wall across her chest and collapsed, and pieces of brick sliced across Goyle's head.

To Harry's left, Crabbe had recovered. He stepped in and threw a punch. Harry slid to the left and countered with a foot to the knee, snapping the joint. But he lost his balance and stumbled. Goyle sent a Bludgeoner crashing into his ribs and Harry fell against the counter. Crabbe lunged at him from the floor, driving off his good leg, but Harry twisted away and launched the Black Plague Curse back at him. Crabbe collapsed, his body convulsing. Behind him, Goyle froze.

Harry didn't.

Screams filled the room when Goyle's shins exploded in a cloud of blood, sinew, and bone. He toppled into an end table, snapping it in half. Harry followed with a Stunner before Goyle hit the floor, then hit him with three _Incarcerous_ and a _Rennervate Spell_.

"You destroyed my legs!"

"You're observant."

A fresh wave of pain must have hit him because he screamed again. "The Dark Lord's going to kill you for this!" Goyle rasped once he caught his breath.

Harry laughed. "I hope so; the bastard hasn't beaten me yet."

Goyle narrowed his eyes and it looked like he almost— "Potter?"

"Very good," he mocked. Harry levitated the other Death Eaters into the center of the room and laid them next to each other. The Plague Curse Harry used on Crabbe had turned his fingers and nose black with gangrene, blood seeped from orifices, marking his clothes red. Dieter lay next to him, unconscious, but still moaning from the acid eating his body away. The two witches were placed next to each other, immobilized and wide-eyed, and the Hufflepuff still pressing a hand against the wound on her neck. "So, will Riddle avenge everyone here, or just you?" Harry asked Goyle.

"Who?"

"Tom Riddle, Voldemort, the supposed Dark Lord. I take it every person here has the Dark mark?"

Goyle smirked. "Yeah, every one of us, good job pissing off the most powerful wizard in the world."

"I haven't even begun to piss him off, yet." Harry faced the pile of Death Eaters. "Go back to your master. Tell him you saw me, that you saw Death, and that I am coming for him. _Avada Kedavra_!"

Crabbe's body spasmed once, then ceased moving.

"Tell him that I am tired of his followers mocking me, calling themselves Death Eaters. _Avada Kedavra_!"

Dieter's whimpering ceased.

"Tell your master that he will fail his name, he will not flee my presence. _Avada Kedavra_!"

Jacqueline's wide eyes froze as they were, staring straight at him.

"And when I catch him. I will devour him. _Avada Kedavra_!"

The Hufflepuff witch's hand fell from her neck. Blood seeped from the cursed wound into the carpet where she lay.

Harry slowly turned back to Goyle. "And I'll enjoy the taste of the seventh part of his soul, the last in existence."

His wand came up of its own will and Harry ached and hungered and lusted for another kill. Yes! Yesss! the Horcrux hissed.

Live according to your name! a dark Voice exhorted deep within him.

No! Goyle must live, Harry argued, beating back the desire.

Why? both voices demanded.

Harry glared at the worthless rubbish lying before him. Because someone has to tell the others. Because we will feed them with fear, with uncertainty, and with doubt, and then we hunt them one-by-one, savoring the taste of their deaths.

Then we can wait, and enjoy the hunt, the Horcrux agreed.

But not for long, the Voice added.

A wave of fear and nausea overtook Harry. From where had these thoughts come? The Horcrux he understood, but that Voice, and his own answer . . . that wasn't how a fifteen-year-old thought, was it?

Harry pushed it away and looked again at the sad excuse of a wizard before him, and he heard Pansy's voice again, telling him of all the despicable things about which they'd bragged. "So, how many young girls have you raped?"

"What does it matter?" Goyle asked.

Harry shrugged. "As many as Crabbe?"

"No!"

Was Goyle showing a hint of intelligence? Doubtful. He snorted, then nodded to the dead witch lying on the floor. "You were at least wizard enough to rape more than her, right?"

"She wouldn't help! And the Kraut pricks were too prissy."

"Is that so?" Harry hovered over the Death Eater. "That reminds me, I have another message for your lot."

"What's that?"

He grinned. "_Confringo_!" The Blasting Curse pierced Goyle's robes and detonated. He screamed, cupping what remained of his scrotum. It took three more _Rennervate _Spells to wake him up again.

"A warning. I will emasculate the next Death Eater that I hear has raped someone. Do you know what that means?"

Goyle shook his head, his pupils dilated in pain.

"It means a Cutting Curse, rather than a Blasting Curse, and I aim an inch higher . . . two in your case. Understand?"

Goyle nodded.

One thing remained before Harry could leave. He cast another Piercing Spell, this one at the ceiling, then aimed through the hole: "_Figuli Morsmordre_." The green charm climbed toward the sky, transforming into a smoky wisp below the clouds.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry sat atop the roof again and stared at the Dark Mark that hovered in the remaining twilight. When it first appeared, it ignited a frenzy in both Knockturn and Diagon Alleys. People ran away, screaming for loved ones until someone paid closer attention:

"That's not the same mark!" someone shouted.

"What's not the same?" another asked.

"The mark! I just said that!"

"Then what is it?" a third said.

"How would I know?"

"Has anyone seen it before?" a fourth voice cut asked. Harry lost track of who was speaking at that point.

"I haven't."

"Neither have I."

"What could it mean?"

"I have no idea."

"Wait, look! Above the eye!"

"There's nothing there."

"The other eye, you feckless wonder."

"Is that a scar?"

"It is!"

"Where's the snake? The Dark Mark always had a snake."

"Then what is it, if it's not the Dark Mark?"

"Think, you muppet! There's a _lightning bolt_!"

"It couldn't be!"

"Damn right it could be!"

"Does that mean Harry Potter's still alive?"

"No! It means he's gone on the offensive! He's fighting the Death Eaters!"

Silence.

One heart beat.

Two heartbeats.

Three heartbeats.

The alleys below erupted in cheers that shook the buildings. _Cracks_ of Disapparation announced that the news was already being spread throughout Britain. Then others Apparated in to see the mark for themselves, and left just as fast.

Harry caught sight of Pansy stepping out of her store. Something about her demeanor told him that she knew it was coming, even though she seemed surprised. It was an odd mix. Beyond her stood Death Eaters keeping track of the crowds. Every once in a while, they snuck a glance at the sky, and their bodies tensed every time they did so.

The Numbing charm didn't last long and the pain from his broken arm demanded that he deal with it. As soon as the streets cleared, he climbed off the roof and started toward Diagon Alley. Every step was a sledgehammer, pounding his shattered arm. He tried another Numbing Charm, but it was useless, and at this point, he couldn't focus enough to use a Healing Spell. Apparating in this condition guaranteed a splinch, so he just crept along the shadows under his invisibility robe, hoping that he'd find help somewhere.

That _somewhere_ was two-buildings down on Diagon Alley, where a striking, black-haired witch went about her job sweeping the patio in front of her store. Jaycinda McAlvoy was Slytherin, but she risked her life to protect firsties from Death Eaters according to Susan and Cho, and Harry didn't have much of a choice either way.

She laid her broom aside and started rearranging chairs, four to a table.

Harry eased closer to the ice cream parlor, wincing with each step. He waited by the entrance until she finished.

Jaycinda put the last chair in place and cast a spell to keep them secure until morning, then opened the door. Harry followed close behind, and was almost through when she threw her arms in the air. "The broom!" She spun around. "For the love of Mor—" But Harry couldn't move fast enough, and she smacked into him, still under his robe. He landed against the doorframe with his fractured arm and howled in pain. Blackness threatened to overtake him. He fought to keep conscious.

Jaycinda snatched his cloak off him, her wand already in her other hand and leveled at his throat. She marched him deeper into the dining room, then shoved him into a chair. "Who are you. Tell me or I'll kill you here and now."

Well, that wasn't the way the usual opening question went. "Jaycinda?"

Her jaw grew firm. "You must be stupid. I said to identify yourself, not me. Last chance."

Harry combed his fingers through his hair, pulling it back from his forehead. "Does this help?"

"You look familiar, but . . ." Her eyes went wide and she gasped. "No, it can't be, it—they said you were . . . Bloody hell! It's you! It's really you! Yes!" She danced in a little circle. "YES! YES! YES!"

"Finished?" he asked when she faced him again.

"Yes . . . no!" She danced around again, and Harry couldn't help but notice that she took _very _good care of her body.

Jaycinda finished her little dance "All right, so what do you need?"

He raised an eyebrow, but the effect was lost when he grimaced from another wave of pain. "That trusting?"

"Nope." She grinned. "But between that charm that everyone's calling 'the Potter's Mark,' and the curse scar on your forehead, there's no doubt you're Harry Potter. And, there's absolutely no chance that you're working with You-Know-Who."

That made sense, but what if . . . "Polyjuice?"

"Doesn't work on curse-scars."

Despite his pain, Harry smirked. "It'll hide them."

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "Where would . . . Merlin's arse! It was you! You Polyjuiced yourself into Slytherin over Christmas hols one year, didn't you?"

His insides clutched at the memory of Ron. "It seems like a long time ago."

"It does," she agreed. "How did you get hurt?"

"Bone Breaker, and it got me pretty good."

Jaycinda glanced over her shoulder. "Hold on." She walked to the front and cast a series of Locking Charms on the door, then hit the two large windows with an Occulting Spell that threw the room into darkness. Candles that floated along all four walls flamed to life. With a wave of her wand, six candles floated over and surrounded them.

"Don't you know Healing Charms?"

"A few, but I'm in enough pain that I'm liable to botch it and make the entire arm disappear."

"Hmm." She smiled. "We wouldn't want another Lockhart incident, now would we? Better let me give it a try." Delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist and she tried to move it. "Sticking Charm?"

"I forgot, sorry."

"You forgot about a spell you cast on yourself? Yeah, maybe you shouldn't be messing with Healing Charms right now." She canceled the charm and his arm dropped into his lap. He grunted from the newest wave of nausea that passed through him.

Jaycinda waited until he gained color in his cheeks again, then began her examination.

"What's that . . ." She touched the back of his arm, and he hissed in pain. "No wonder you're about to pass out." His shirt disappeared with another wave of her wand.

He glanced at the damage and saw Bone and fragments of bone that had punctured through the skin. The room spun and he had to close his eyes and remind himself to breathe.

Jaycinda stood before him again when he reopened them, a playful gleam in her own eyes. "You know, if we were back at Hogwarts, I doubt you'd ever leave the broom closet looking the way you do now." He blushed, and she cackled.

A couple of minutes later, she cast the Healing Charm. Bone ground against bone and his stomach flipped. He gagged, but a tender hand touched the side of his face and held him until the feeling passed.

Better?" she asked.

"I think so."

"Try to move it now."

He did. The muscles were sore, but the agonizing pain was gone.

"Now, lift your arm over your head."

Something sharp ripped through him and he hissed.

"Hmm, I wonder . . ." She slid her fingertips across his chest and down the side, searching for broken ribs, but her touch left a trail of fire across his skin.

He jumped out of his chair and backed away. "Thank you, but I can do this part myself." He pointed his wand and cast the Charm, but his wand-work was sloppy and the Charm hit him with the force of a Bludger, filling his eyes with tears. He grasped the table for support.

Jaycinda shook her head. "Did it hurt?"

"A little."

"Good, you ponce! What was that about?"

"I just . . . " His words caught in his throat. "Nothing."

She crossed her arms. "Most wizards don't mind me touching them."

"I'm not most wizards."

"No, you're not," she agreed, then her eyes widened. "Don't tell me Susan and Cho were right, you're dating that Veela from Beauxbatons, Fleur, I think her name was, aren't you?"

His insides clutched a second time. "I was."

"Past tense?"

He nodded. "She's dead. Killed by Death Eaters."

Her fingertips touched his cheek again. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." She let her hand drop and an uneasy silence passed before she spoke again. "So, what now?"

"I have to leave. If Death Eaters knew I was here, they'd raze this place and kill you."

"I figured that, I meant, where are you going?"

He shook his head. "No offense, but the fewer who know, the safer I'll be."

"Smart." She pulled a chair over and sat. "All right, listen to me. First, you're right to trust very few people, You-Know-Who has spies everywhere. Second, if you need to contact Neville or the others, do it through me, but only if it's important . . . and don't look so surprised, my boyfriend works with Neville."

"Marcus?"

"Yuck!" she said. "Adrian, the hot one. Third, it's dangerous for you to come around here. The next time you're injured, go to a Muggle hospital named after a Saint. If an Order member is stationed there, you'll see a small phoenix on the bottom left corner of the emergency sign. Stand next to it and wait, they'll make contact. It's their job to clean up after you, answering any questions or Obliviating if someone's too curious."

"You're in the Order?"

"Officially, no, I leave that to Neville, but I help when and where I can, like passing on information. Speaking of which, what happened tonight?"

"I decided to celebrate," he said.

Her nose crinkled in confusion. Harry had to admit it was very cute, and he felt horrible for noticing it. "Celebrate what?" she asked.

"The one year anniversary."

Her eyes lit with comprehension. "Who took the brunt of this 'celebration'?"

"Crabbe, a Slytherin named Jacqueline, a Hufflepuff whose name I didn't know, and two Germans, I think."

She pursed her lips. "Crabbe and Goyle are seldom apart, Goyle wasn't there?"

"He was, but I left him alive, I needed a messenger."

"Who was the message for?"

"Who do you think?"

She stared Harry, then shook her head again. "That's a dangerous game. Next time, just kill that rat-bastard Goyle, will you?"

"I almost did."

"Good, animals like that don't deserve to live."

The malice in her voice told Harry this was personal. "What did he do?"

"My half-sister lives in Muggle England with her father. A month ago, Goyle killed her best friend, after doing a few others things that I don't want to think about. Adrian almost caught him, but Goyle took a Muggle hostage and Disapparated. The next morning they found the Muggle's remains strewn about Knockturn Alley."

"Back up, a few other things?"

Her nostrils flared. "Use your imagination."

He swallowed back the bile at the mental picture that leaped into his head. "Then you'll be glad to know that I castrated him tonight."

A righteous grin spread across her lips. "Literally?"

"Yeah."

"That's the best news I've heard in a long time!" She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "That's for my sister, maybe she'll sleep through the night, now." Jaycinda took a deep breath and focused. "Okay, you need to leave London for a couple of weeks. Whenever Neville and the others hit a place, Death Eaters flood the area for at least that long, hoping to catch them coming back. Where are you staying?"

"Around."

"I'm impressed. Keep it up and you just might live through this war. In the back, there's meats and a few loaves of bread, plus a bag that's hanging on the door. Fill it with anything you want, then, when you're ready, we'll leave through the back door and Apparate together."

"Thank you."

"Remember to stay safe and kick some—"

Someone hammered on the front door; Jaycinda pointed to the back and threw Harry's shirt at him.

"We're closed, can't you read the sign?"

"Either let us in or we'll force our way, it's up to you."

"All right, All right, hold on. Let me get this ice cream goop off my hands. Damn wretched half-bloods can't eat it without making a blooming mess." She winked at Harry, who was watching from the pantry doorway behind the kitchen, then levitated something to him before making her way to the door.

How did he forget his wand? Harry snatched it out of the air. He'd made so many mistakes tonight that it was surprising he wasn't dead. Harry focused on the conversation and didn't recognize the new voices, but the masks and robes told him all he needed to know. Jaycinda stepped back from them, and he was sorely tempted to launch a couple of Killing Curses at the Death Eaters, but he managed to resist.

Jaycinda put her hands on her hips. "I'm a pureblood Slytherin you limp-dick. Why would I help a blood-traitor . . . no, I was helping my little sister and her Slytherin friends that night. . . Well, what should I have done? Let the Mudbloods and Half-bloods kill them with their incompetence? . . . That's what I thought, so, are we finished? . . . Good! Thank you." She shut the door behind them and locked it, then rested her head against the frame.

In the back, Harry relaxed against a counter, then spotted the bag she'd mentioned. He piled food in it before making his way back to the dining area. "Mudbloods and Half-bloods killing them with incompetence?"

Jaycinda straightened a table, then peered over it at him. "Don't tell me you believed that—"

He waved her off. "You said what was necessary; I know you helped more than a few Muggle-borns that night. Ready to leave?"

"Yes, but I've changed our plans. We'll Apparate from the back of the store straight to my apartment and land on my covered porch, then you can Apparate to wherever from there."

Harry replayed her conversation with the Death Eaters in his head. Did she have time to arrange something? Was there a keyword exchanged? Her reasons sounded valid enough, but—

"You're doubting me," she interrupted.

"Why can't we Apparate somewhere else?"

"Mr. Fortescue keyed me into the wards last summer. It's the way he had them built."

A simple lie is the easiest, he remembered, but if she wanted to turn him over to Voldemort, it would've been easier when he was still injured.

"Here," she said, holding up her arm. "Stand behind me and take it. When we arrive, push me away and Disapparate . . . matter of fact, it'll be better this way."

"Why's that?"

"If anyone's watching, they'll think you were using me to escape." She drew her wand. "Wrap your hand around mine so it looks like you're controlling it, then, with your other hand, hold your own wand against my back. Like that, good. Remember, when we get there, push me away, and then leave immediately. I'll turn around and throw a Stunner to make it look good."

She led him to the back where a small square, almost big enough for one person was drawn on the floor. She stepped into it, her toes at the front, then waved him behind her. He tried squeezing in, but the height difference and tight space guaranteed a lot of contact. After a few seconds of jostling into place, he jumped back, growing bright red.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "You're a teenage wizard, and I still have a firm arse, so enjoy it." She smiled. "But I gotta say, I would've enjoyed a broom closet with you at Hogwarts . . . oh come on!" She grabbed him before he could put more distance between them.

Harry felt like hexing her. "Please, just . . . don't."

Her smile fell. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"It's not that, I . . . It's only been a few weeks since Fleur died, and—" He clamped his mouth shut. How that leaked out he had no idea, but he didn't intend to say anything else.

"And you feel guilty," she continued.

He didn't have to answer.

"Harry, you're having natural reactions to an eighteen year old who takes care of herself, you're not betraying the witch you lost, okay?"

He nodded.

"You must have loved her a great deal."

"I did," he admitted.

She touched his arm. "Then you gave her a wonderful gift. I promise, no more teasing, but we do need to leave. If Death Eaters are watching my apartment and I don't arrive soon, they'll come back, and like you said earlier, the second time won't be near as nice as the first."

He took a deep breath. "All right, let's go."

Jaycinda held up her wand. He wrapped his hand around hers, stepped into the square and pressed his body against hers, then pointed his wand at the base of her neck with his other hand. She turned and the familiar pressing sensation played havoc with his arm and ribs. Then his feet hit the patio and he acted his part, pushing her toward a cushioned chair. He cast a light Stunner that would wear off in a matter of a few seconds, then brought up the image of his cave and turned, but a smile creased his lips at the swearing Jaycinda spewed as he Disapparated. Maybe he went too light on the Stunner.

Three hours later, with his food stored and his hunger sated, he thought over what he'd learned tonight. The chance was small, but Draco just might be Harry's doorway to Voldemort. More important, however, was that he learned that he couldn't trust his spell casting. Harry picked up his wand and tried it again, stopping at the same point on the release move. Why was he forgetting curses? Was he forgetting them? Where did he even learn the Choking Death Curse?

The Horcrux. That's where.

Harry rubbed his face. Talk about unsettling! Maybe not all of Voldemort's knowledge transferred to him. If that were true, then he couldn't trust any of that knowledge in a fight, or the next time, the curse that hit him might be colored green.

Harry stayed awake long into the night. Not that he wanted to, but he knew that Fleur's Maya-blue eyes and the soft voice awaited him in his dreams, begging him not to descend into the darkness, and tonight, he wouldn't be able to return her gaze. She'd know that he failed her. The joy, the high he felt killing those Death Eaters, that was the domain of Dark Wizards, and that was his domain now.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Fleur! Fleur! You have to see this!" Gabrielle ran into Durmstrang's Dining Hall, carrying a bunch of newspapers. The eyes of every wizard in the room followed her, but she didn't seem to care.

"What's got you all a feather?" Médée asked.

"This!" She plopped down a folded newspaper, front side up. "And this, and this, and this." Three more hit the table. "There's more in the library.

"I've seen that before," Azzurra said, pointing to the picture that graced the front page of every newspaper before them. "That's . . ."

"'Arry!" Fleur struggled to breathe. "He did that, look at the scar!"

"What?" Markus snatched it from the table and started reading. "This says it happened two nights ago. Harry killed five Death Eaters before setting off what they're calling the 'Potter Mark.'" He lowered the paper. "That's one hell of a head game he's playing."

Fleur couldn't pull her eyes away from the image; she ran her fingers across it and fought back the tears. "It's starting . . . he's losing himself."

Jaleena, sitting across from her, pushed a half-eaten plate of food aside. "Don't jump to conclusions. Harry's been planning this for a year, right? He's smart, and he's been training as well. So there's no reason to think that he's losing himself. Markus might be right. This could all just be head-games."

"No," Gabrielle said. She was turning whiter by the minute and her hands shook. "Fleur's right." Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her sister. "Just before 'Arry left, I, I felt something change in him, something that irritated my magic, but I didn't pay attention, then once we heard you were alive, there was too much commotion and I forgot . . . I'm sorry."

Fleur looked back at the papers. A paragraph caught her attention.

_Rumors abound concerning a new criminal element in the Wizarding U.K. In the last few weeks, the Ministry has experienced abductions of officials, the murders of five young men and women, and a brutal sexual assault on a sixth that cause a young man to lose his scrotum. What, or more appropriately, who is this criminal element? His name is Death, or so he says, but we know him as Harry Potter._

She dropped the paper. "I'm going to get him."

A strong hand clamped around both of hers and she looked down in surprise. "No, you're not," Markus said. "Not yet."

She yanked them from his grip. "Like hell I'm not!"

"You're not ready," he answered. "What happens if you die over there? Who'd save Harry?"

That caught her short. A growl escaped and she set her jaw. "Fine. You have two weeks. Teach me whatever you think I need, then I'm gone."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she raised an eyebrow in challenge. A quick look at the other three Veela—four if he included Gabby—showed nothing but support for Fleur.

Markus threw his fork to the table. "Damn Veela! Hex you all!" He stepped back from them, then pointed at Fleur. "You have ten minutes to be in the training room, and we're not stopping until the sun drops below the mountain or I knock your ass back into Torpor, I'm pushing for the latter."

Every Veela in the Dining Hall gasped.

"Markus!" Azzurra flushed in anger.

He spun on her. "Shut it! Fleur might as well kiss her ass goodbye if she can't beat me, and I'd rather her be in Torpor than a grave!" He stormed off, slamming the doors to the Dining Hall behind him. The sound cut through what conversations remained, leaving silence in his wake.

"What was that all about?" Fleur asked.

Azzurra chewed her lip. "I've _never_ seen him that angry. I know he thinks of Harry as a little brother, but . . . Jaleena?"

Jaleena put a hand on Fleur's. "It was very fast, but I think he's afraid of betraying Harry by giving you just enough confidence to die, at least that's part of it."

"And the other part?" Fleur asked.

Jaleena looked to Azzurra, who nodded back. "He's starting to care for you like he does me and Médée. Since he's accepted Azzurra's mark and Harry's accepted yours, it's bound to happen. We've all grown so close. . ."

Azzurra got to her feet. "Go get changed. I'll find Markus and make sure he doesn't blast the Veela out of you. Jaleena, Médée, you might as well skip class and come along, pick up Professor Sorina and the Headmaster along the way if possible. Markus'll want us all to help, you too, Gabby." She shook her head. "This is setting up to be a _very _long two weeks."


	22. Vengeance and Veela

.

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**Vengeance and Veela**

Markus attempted to shove six years of Auror training into two weeks. Then, he finagled a third week by dueling Fleur every night and defeating her so thoroughly that she was too sore to move the next morning. That changed after breakfast this morning. Fleur, paired with Gabrielle—who was becoming frighteningly good—took on Markus, Ilija, Médée, Jaleena, and Azzurra. In a minute and a half, only the Delacour sisters were standing. Three hours later, Gabrielle was home, and Fleur, along with Azzurra, had set out for the sunlit streets of the Mazkānāka.

As soon as they crossed the ward-line, Fleur took off toward the main building. She almost made it before Azzurra caught up with her. "What are you thinking?" she asked. "If you storm into a Zekānōt council, you're liable to get us both banned, and that's not why I agreed to bring you."

"Then what did you agree to?" Fleur countered. "You knew why I was coming!"

Azzurra poked her in the chest. "You said you wanted to _speak_ with your Flock Leader, not barge into a meeting. There's a difference and don't act like it's lost on you."

"I . . ." Ah, bugger, she was right. Fleur let out a breath in defeat.

"Look, I'll take you to the Entry Chamber, but you have to promise that you'll wait there until you're invited further in. I'm serious about them banning us."

Fleur listened while gazing at the massive birdbath a couple blocks away. Maman had longed to return here, even as she ranted against the Zekānōt's decisions. Now, Fleur understood. A Veela's true home was here, and the wish to reconnect with the Veelas' history grew strong in every witch that shared her heritage. And Azzurra had every right to worry after the way Fleur had been the last few days. "I promise."

"Good. The council building's this way."

They entered a tall, red-roofed building that gleamed white in the Mediterranean sun. "Wait here, I'll fetch my godmother. Tell me your Flock Leader's name, again."

"Anastasie," Fleur said. "And why not your mother? Wait, stupid question."

Azzurra chuckled. "They're not at each other's throats, but they're not exchanging favors, either." She pointed at a couch. "Sit!"

Fleur figured she deserved that after what happened outside, so she made herself comfortable and looked around at the walls—Elazig Cherry marble, according to Petra—that formed the building's interior. They cast a reddish hue about the room.

Fleur couldn't help but wonder if Gabrielle saw the world through a similar color at the moment. She snickered. Thankfully, Gabby couldn't throw fire, or Beauxbatons would've burned to the ground this morning. Fleur hadn't seen a Veela throw a fit like that in years.

"Fleur?"

She rose to her feet and greeted Anastasie. "Thank you for seeing me."

"This is most unusual; I hope you have a good reason for interrupting."

"I do, have you seen any papers over the last few weeks?"

"We've been stuck in marathon sessions here, chirping away about nothing. Why?"

Fleur's throat constricted. "'Arry."

Anastasie's eyes turned moist. "Oh, Fleur, I'm sorry . . ."

"It's not that," Azzurra interrupted. Fleur hadn't noticed that she had returned, but Azzurra and her godmother stood behind Anastasie. "He's fighting back."

Anastasie turned back to Fleur, obviously not understanding the problem.

"Three weeks ago, a giant Death's Head hovered above Diagon Alley with a lightning shaped scar on its forehead."

"So . . . he took your grandmother's advice to heart, right? Good for him, but what does that—"

"No," Fleur interrupted. "I mean yes, he's doing that, but I think the 'Orcrux has taken control of him. Look again at that picture. That's not a similar spell that created that skull, it looks like the _exact_ same one, only modified. Nobody but Death Eaters or Voldemort knows how to cast that spell, right?"

She waited for Anastasie to nod, then continued. "That means he got it from the 'Orcrux. And that is why I can't wait any longer. I need to find him."

Anastasie looked at the picture again. "Who's to say he didn't learn it from a Death Eater that he captured?"

"And how would he have done that?" Fleur asked. "Threats? Torture? My 'Arry doesn't know how to do that, but 'Orcrux 'Arry . . . It amounts to the same thing."

Anastasie continued to stare at Harry's modified version of the skull. Twice, Fleur started tapping her foot against the floor, but caught herself, not wanting to perturb her Flock Leader. "All right, I see your point," she said. "It's an assumption on your part, but it's reasonable, considering the circumstances. That still doesn't explain why you're here, though."

"Because I need your help. I want the Zekānōt and Veela to join with wizards. The Veela will distract the Death Eaters and then the wizards can kill them in one fell swoop. This way, 'Arry can get to Voldemort and kill him and then we can work on getting that thing out of his head. Moreover, it's all legal since the International Federation of Wizards issued the "Execute on Sight" order for all marked Death Eaters, and England's _Vulgaire_ government also signed similar legislation, declaring them terrors, or something like that."

All through her explanation, however, Anastasie's glare grew more avian. "Distract?" she asked, and Fleur's hopes fell. "Let me see if I understand. You, a Delacour, want to waltz into a Zekānōt meeting and ask the heads of every flock in the world to fulfill the worst Veela stereotypes, with the result being a mass slaughter of wizards?"

Fleur squared her shoulders to her Flock Leader. "No, I want to offer the leadership of a once-proud race the chance to be respected for more than shaking their asses at Quidditch matches."

Petra gave a low whistle. "Always the sharp-tongued one, aren't you, Little Chicken? Maybe that's why I like you." She took Fleur's chin in her hand. "You'll be on your own. I won't risk Anastasie's or my place in there."

"I understand."

"Be careful," Anastasie said. "You have no idea of the eggs that's yet to be hatched."

"The eggs . . . wait, that dinner last Christmas . . ."

Anastasie actually smiled. "Yes, she seemed rather forceful about a certain topic or two, didn't she? I've learned to never underestimate Apolline Delacour."

Fleur smiled at her mother's pluck. "Then, she's trying it again, isn't she? The same thing she tried in the last war?"

Azzurra's expression turned befuddled at the cryptic conversation. "What are you all talking about?"

"Nothing," Petra answered before anyone else could say anything. "And forget what you've already heard." The timbre of authority in her voice left Azzurra wide-eyed. "In proper time you'll learn, and I guarantee you'll approve. Is that enough?"

"I, I guess it has to be." She didn't look happy about it, though. "Can I at least attend as a visitor when Fleur addresses the Zekānōt?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Anastasie said. "You might get associated with Fleur just by appearing at the same time."

"She's right," Petra agreed. "But if you're desperate to watch, there's visitor seats in the back. But again, _do not_ draw attention to yourself."

"Thanks." Azzurra took Fleur's hand and squeezed it, then left without another word.

"So what now?" asked Anastasie.

Petra shrugged. The action looked strange coming from her. "After the next vote, I'll ask for an open forum and you can make your introduction, but remember to isolate her. Your place cannot be devalued." She turned back to Fleur. "I can't stress enough that you'll be all alone. Don't make eye contact with either of us after you're introduced, your mother and grandmother have come too far for you to throw everything away now."

"I won't," Fleur promised. "But, when did you decide to fly with our murmuration on this?"

"The night you supposedly died. It devastated your boyfriend, but your sister also crushed him when she pushed him away. I could feel echoes of his emotions from those in your flock when I entered the room, and it made me consider the possibility that wizards just might feel something other than lust for Veela. The Wizarding world still has much to prove before I'll lead my flock to trust them, but I've decided that for your betrothed, at least, I'll do what I can."

Fleur bowed her head in gratitude and Petra laid a hand upon her shoulder in reply, and then returned to the meeting.

"You're not planning on holding back, are you?" Anastasie asked as soon as Petra disappeared through the doors. Fleur could almost detect a hint of amusement. "Remember, we Zekānōt understand respect and passion. You're a Delacour, grandchild of the infamous Flock Leader Anne-Marie Guillory. They'll ignore any respect you show, so that leaves only one option."

"But Petra just said—"

Anastasie raised a hand to stop her. "I'm well aware of that, now let me interpret her words: don't insult for the sake of insulting; but the Zekānōt also needs a well placed kick in the derriere."

The sound of pure crystal, struck with a sharp instrument, rang through the halls. "They're voting. Follow me in and sit in the open seats at the back of the room. Do not draw attention to yourself, don't sit anywhere close to Mademoiselle Sala, and wait until you are recognized by the Zekānōt."

The overwhelming height of the chamber captured her attention first. Its interior was vast, and two and a half stories tall with walls of gleaming white tile intermixed with reddish hues of the same marble as the entryway. They ended in four magnificent arches—one per wall—upon which the ceiling rested, itself made of baked tiles from the same clay found throughout the Mazkānāka. Sunlight poured in through the arches. What she could see of the floor was a mixed red and white marble, but six concentric half circles of seating covered most of it. The aisle she was looking down descended to a ten-foot pit from which a recognized speaker could address the Zekānōt.

Fleur felt someone touch her arm, and realized that Maryse had joined her. The two of them sat in chairs to Fleur's left, behind and just above the last circle of Veela.

Never had Fleur seen so many in one place, and despite the genetic and magical mandates that promised the same basic color of hair and eyes, their variances were so many that it took her minutes to catalog them all. By far, the most intriguing were the African Veela. They reminded her of pictures she's seen of an ancient Nubian Goddess: angular features, thin through the jaw and mouth, and skin dark and so smooth that even from this distance, Fleur ached from jealousy. But their Veela heritage was undeniable in the full lips, rich honey-blonde hair, and irises that looked almost purple.

"The Zekānōt recognizes Flock Leader Petronela Albescu."

To Fleur's right, Petra stood in the second row. "I call for a discussion on general Veela welfare under open-forum rules."

If the request surprised the Veela in charge, she showed it only in the slightest raised eyebrow. Next to her on the three-seat dais sat a clone of Azzurra, though maybe a few years older. "Petra—pardon, Flock Leader Albescu, there are no issues I know of which requires an open forum. I would like to know more of your request."

Petra inclined her head. "One of ours has journeyed here, wishing to address the Zekānōt. And unless I'm mistaken, tradition dictates that except in time of extreme emergency, we allow such requests."

Azzurra's mother glanced around the room, then her eyes fell on Fleur and she pursed her lips. "I see." She conferred with the two other Veela on the dais, then the Veela-in-charge banged something with a clear mallet, and the sound of crystal on crystal rang through the room. "We grant an open forum through unanimous consent, unless verbal objection is made." The mallet wielding Veela announced.

There were no objections and the crystal rang once more. "Discussion on general Veela welfare will begin under open forum rules. May the Flock Leaders of all who have issue please step forward."

A row behind and a few feet left of Petra, Anastasie rose. "I was just informed that a member of my flock wishes to speak, though I know not the subject." Then she paused so others could register the disconnect before continuing. "I ask that the Zekānōt give ear to Fleur Delacour—" Their eyes met for an instant, but that was all Fleur needed to see. Her flock leader had decided something; but what she'd decided, Fleur had no idea. "—Tri-wizard Champion of Beauxbatons, and Bloodied Warrioress of the English Pureblood wars."

Sweet Circe, she knows! Anastasie knows exactly what I'm intending! And she approves! What other reason would she introduce me by title?

A murmur arose and Fleur tried her best to ignore it, but by the time she stepped into the pit, the room sounded as though a nest of hornets had invaded. Then the crystal hammer struck again.

"Quiet, we cannot proceed until there is silence," The mallet wielding Veela said. Then she looked at Fleur. "Am I to assume that you are the granddaughter of disgraced ex-Flock Leader Anne-Marie Guillory?"

"No, Madam. You are not to assume that." From the corner of her eye, Fleur noticed Petra letting a resigned sigh. "I am the daughter of partial-Veela Apolline Delacour; granddaughter Anne-Marie Guillory, a full Veela and former Zekānōt member from the Franco-Celtic Flock; and more importantly today, the betrothed through an accepted mark to a wizard-of-legend. It is he for whom I address you concerning the Veela welfare."

It might have been her nerves, but any pleasantness in the meeting dissipated with her declaration of lineage. Then again, that's bound to happen when a Veela spouts an ancient formulaic introduction and titles among this body, which led back to her original question: how in the name of all that's magic did Anastasie know what Fleur had in mind?

"Then speak, Warrioress." Fleur locked eyes with one of the hauntingly beautiful African Veela, sitting in the first row to the left of the dais. "I am Samrawit," she continued, "of the Nubian flock. Tell me of this legend."

Fleur's heart thumped hard in her chest. But she raised her head and addressed the assembly in a voice that she hoped was strong, praying that she'd read up enough in the last few days to do it right.

"His name is Harry Potter by birth right, but earned the titles: the Boy Who Lived, Defyer of the Dark Lord, and Death, and has been deemed _the Prophesied One_. He stands with another legend, named Neville Longbottom by birthright, but has earned the titles, Chaos, and more importantly, Friend. Together, though they would be considered but children by most Veela, these men fight enemies that loosen the joints of wizards four and five times their age."

"Tell me of their plight," Flock Leader Sala said, continuing the tradition and shocking Fleur that she even played along. Fleur dipped her head in appreciation and then continued.

"A great danger hides on the doorstep for my betrothed, spun from our own stories about the one he is fighting." Fleur braced herself for whatever reaction her next words would cause, then raised her voice and commanded the attention of the room—as if she didn't all ready have it—continuing the ancient tradition. "Here me, Oh Zekānōt, I come to you today with news that England's Dark Lord has created 'Orcruxes."

Utter silence met her declaration, a heavy, foreboding silence, spun from the corporate memory of the darkest Horcrux myths. A wrong whisper felt as though it might start a battle here, in the middle of the chambers, but she pushed on anyway.

"Therefore I call on you today to set feet and wings to the path of those who have gone before us, to be worthy of the name, _Veela_. I offer you the opportunity to join me and turn the tides of darkness that now threaten to engulf nations and continents without satiation, to stand against the one who dared create such abominations, that one called, _Voldemort_—"

Cries of dismay met her ears, and to Fleur's left, another Veela shot out her chair, a faint glow surrounding her as she screeched, "Away with this disgraced half-breed! She's spreading lies!"

"Where's your proof?" Another called.

And a third, "Where's _your_ proof she's lying?" And then a cacophony of voices broke loose, and Veela yelled and shook their fists at each other until nobody could hear anyone but themselves.

Then Fleur cast a _Sonorus _Charm on herself.

"SILENCE!" she commanded. "Do I not still have the Floor?"

A hundred-plus stunned Veela glared at her as she surreptitiously removed the charm, but she caught Anastasie's rather pleased smirk, though she hid it behind a hand.

"Yes, Ms. Delacour, you do," Azzurra's mother answered, then waited until Fleur faced her. "But you have addressed this body in the ways of the ancient warriors, playing on the darkest elements of our myths. What, then, are you asking? Do you expect us to march to our deaths behind you?"

"No, Flock Leader Sala, I came to offer my sisters a chance to be considered part of the Wizarding world once again."

Flock Leader Sala nodded to someone over Fleur's shoulder. She turned to find that Samrawit now had the floor. "Tell me then, young Veela, what is this offer? And why choose the ancient traditions if you are not requesting that we walk the ancient paths to war?"

Something about the Veela kept striking a nerve, the way she pushed the conversation forward, leading Fleur with her questions, it almost made her wonder if Samrawit was in on her mother's plans. "When the time comes, I ask that we accompany those who will fight Voldemort; not to raise fire or wand, but only that we distract so others may win the day."

"Distract?" Flock Leader Sala asked, though the way her mouth twisted over the word, it must have left a vile taste in her mouth. "You want us to use our Veela magic to drive a wizard to his knees, so that another may drive a curse through his heart? Is that correct?"

"Yes, Flock Leader Sala. It is. Please understand that I would ask for more, but I cannot, since the age of the Veela-Hero has long-since passed."

Growls met her statement. The mallet wielding Veela shook it at her in anger. "When I was your age I sat in my first meeting when another Veela addressed this body with the same arrogance and disrespect that you have today. You are just like your grandmother!"

"Thank you."

The Veela's neck grew red. "That wasn't a compliment!"

"Oh, but it was," Fleur corrected. "Whether you intended it to be or not. My Grandmother was the last of the Zekānōt that understood a Veela's beauty is a veneer behind which the warrioress bides her time—" then she gestured to the entire Zekānōt "—rather than a ticket to becoming whores and sex toys for rich and powerful wizards in exchange for a comfortable life."

The moment the words left her mouth, she realized she'd pushed too far, and the collective intake of breath confirmed it, as did the Lead Veela on the dais. Her mallet struck the crystal once more. "You are out of line!" Then she raised her voice to the assembly. "I will not have another Guillory insult this body! I move that we end this discussion and admonish Fleur Delacour for her insolence!"

Over half the Zekānōt stood in support before anyone could utter another word.

Fleur cast her arms wide and said, "You stand not due to my insolence, but in testimony of the truth I speak!"

"ENOUGH Child! According to the will of the Zekānōt—"

But Fleur was just getting started. She spun back to face the lead Veela. "Oh, shut up, I'll save you the trouble." She conjured three feathers in her left hand, and then let them fall to the marble floor amidst another instant and oppressive silence. Then she spread her hands again and raised her voice in one last ancient tradition, though she added her own ending. "Here me, Oh Zekānōt, listen, Oh Veela nation. I renounce you as my family and deny you as my kindred. I will no longer wear your shame as my disgrace."

Fleur marched out of the room, flinging the doors open so hard that they bounced off the walls with a bang that echoed back through the chamber. She made it half a block down the main road before a hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to find Madame Sala, of all people, glaring at her.

"Never in my life have I seen such a display!"

"Then you should get out more often, Madame."

The witch raised an eyebrow. "Madame?"

"The term _Flock Leader _no longer holds meaning for me."

"So we've heard. Tell me; is this, this Harry Potter boy . . . is he worth throwing away who you are?"

Fleur's anger burned so hot that her nose quivered with each exhaled breath. "He's a man, not a boy, and you're clueless. I didn't forsake you on his account."

"It sure looked that way, but enlighten me, then, why did you turn your back on your own kindred?"

Fleur stepped closer, eye-level and just inches away from the Flock Leader. "Because I'm ashamed of what we've become." She gestured to the scenes etched into the buildings. "There was a time when the Zekānōt marched to war, leading the rest of us into battle to protect the innocent. Back then, we stood side-by-side with wizards against the onslaught of tyrants and Dark Lords. And in those days, we were fell warriors, mighty, powerful, and respected. Our beauty mattered not."

"So that's it?" Madame Sala asked. "You rejected us because we don't lust to spill the blood of wizards you've deemed an enemy?"

Fleur eyes narrowed. "I rejected you because you hide behind your Veela heritage, all-the-while completely losing your humanity. I, however, just found my humanity and I'm not willing to give it up, no matter the cost."

She turned to leave, but Madame Sala grabbed her wrist. "If you loved him so much, why wait so long before setting out to find him?"

"Did you not hear of my ordeal after Torpor?"

"No."

"Then know that I set out immediately to find him, and made it as far as the foot of my hospital bed. The bones I re-broke took an extra month or more to heal, but I was determined that as soon as I grew strong, enough, I was headed back to that accursed island."

"And you're ready, now?"

"Honestly? No. But I've run out of time."

"Then what makes you think you'll make it back home?

"Nothing," she answered.

"That's an awfully big risk."

"And?"

Madame Sala studied Fleur, and her expression grew less harsh by the second. Finally, she released her grip. "Indulge me for one last question: why are you willing to throw away your life for a single wizard. You're Veela, and even part-Veela have the pick of the world."

Fleur looked her square in the eyes. "Because I don't want the pick of the world. I want the one I love, and as long as he needs my help, I'm willing to give it to him.

"But let me clarify something to you, Madame Sala, I decided to help him before I realized I was falling in love. I decided that simply because it was the right thing to do, and it's what Veela used to do, back when we cared about being good humans, and not just beautiful Veela."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry crept along the hall, his wand in his right hand and a Shielding Charm atop a Holding Charm on his left hand. One foot slowly before the other he moved, thankful again for his invisibility cloak. He'd followed Damon Greengrass into his warded house two hours ago, unnoticed, on a hint from the last Ministry Worker that Harry had _interviewed_.

_Thump, thump, thump; _Merlin's arse, why wouldn't his heart stop hammering? He ignored it and intended to slide beyond an open doorway when he caught sight of Daphne, sleeping half-naked and bathed in moonlight. He smirked, then pushed on to the last bedroom where one of the men responsible for the bloodletting at Hogwarts lay sleeping.

Staring at him, Harry fought the urge to kill the entire family. They were safe because of this man's association with Voldemort, and he couldn't allow someone who owed Riddle such a debt to live, could he?

But what's the purpose in that? The Horcrux asked.

Purpose? The Horcrux cared about purpose? Riddle was a wanton killer!

Or was he? No, Voldemort was deliberate—a purpose for every action. Mercy didn't exist in his soul, but neither did frivolous pleasure and pettiness. Both detracted from his primary target, which was power. And if Harry wanted to defeat him, then he must live the same way, which meant letting the family live. The father, however, he'd take pleasure in killing.

Harry raised his wand and a streak of light raced across the room. He reached through his magic and broadened the spell so it'd stun both husband and wife. Then another wave of the wand levitated Mr. Greengrass to the carpet. Harry readjusted the covers and added his touch to the decor on the wall above the headboard:

Damon Greengrass

Murderer  
>Rapist<br>Death Eater

Your Sentence is Death

He cast an Imperius Curse on the Death Eater and escorted him outside, stopping first at a hallway closet for a mask and a special set of robes. Then he cast another spell and watched as it reached above the house, turned into a green mist, and formed into the Potter Mark.

"Time to go." Harry side-Apparated Greengrass to a forest-clearing and then hit him with a Stunner and _Incarcerous_ Spell, then removed the _Imperius_ Curse. Regardless of his recent descent into the Dark Arts, controlling someone else's will wasn't pleasurable.

He checked his watch. The spell for today's main festivities had a three-hour limit before it'd dissipate, revealing his handiwork in Diagon Alley. He could cast it now, but that'd be pushing the margin of error. So instead, he decided to wait until the first pink rays of sunlight kissed the puffy clouds overhead before casting a _Reenervate_ Spell.

After the usual empty questions and threats, Harry asked him how he felt about putting on a little show.

"A show?" Greengrass repeated.

"Sure, large audience, lots of gasps at your ability to hang among the common people. I imagine most of them have no idea that you'd be willing to do such a thing."

"Is that your game, Potter? Embarrassment?"

"Oh, no, it's not embarrassment. Let's call it . . . _Potter's confessional_."

Greengrass's features hardened. "Good luck."

"Luck has nothing to do with it." He grinned. "Actually, it's all in the wrist." Harry cast another _Imperius_ Curse, then hit him with a Compulsion Charm. The combination was a poor man's Veritaserum. The problem was that anyone who could defeat an _Imperius_ Curse could also lie his or her arse off under this combination. Harry was lucky, then, that this wizard had little such ability. After making sure the spells had taken hold, Harry asked, "How many children did you murder at Hogwarts?"

"I don't know."

"Why do they always start with that?" Damn, _little such ability _didn't mean he couldn't fight it at all, so Harry decided a little "encouragement" might help, and he pointed his wand at the man's foot. "You remember what happened to Goyle? I'll start at the foot and move up, destroy each body part as I go. Now, again, how many children did you murder that night?"

"We were casting curses blindly into the stands. I could have killed five or a hundred and five." He shrugged. "I have no idea."

"And you don't care?"

"Not particularly."

Harry tamped on the impulse to kick some sense into the wizard. "Then Guestimate."

"Fifteen or so, maybe more."

"And how many adults?"

"I couldn't begin to tell you."

"Try . . ."

Half an hour later, Harry had found out all he could from Greengrass. Unfortunately, now he also knew far more than he wanted, and it sickened him. He canceled the spell.

Greengrass smirked. "Repulsed? Or was that perverse enjoyment I sensed? Maybe you were feeling a desire to do a little plundering and raping yourself, no?"

Harry gripped his wand and cursed himself for forgetting that the _Imperius_ Curse was a two-way street. A person under it could sense a castor's strong emotions if they were careful, but maybe he could turn that his way.

"I don't know, maybe. I guess I should find out. I could start with Daphne. She looked ripe for the taking, lying there naked in her bed last night . . ." He let the sentence hang.

The Death Eater flushed. "If you touch her—"

Harry shook his head. "Seriously, can't you all ever say something original? Besides, you'll be dead, and as easy as it was to slip through your wards last night, I can pick that particular blossom any time I want."

"You bloody—"

"Bloody?" Harry interrupted, then he gave his best attempt at a lecherous smile. "Sure, I can make her bloody, your wife and Astoria, too. Better yet, an Imperius Curse could have them doing all types of things to each other. I can even get them to make each other bleed in the middle of Diagon Alley. Any other requests before I kill you?"

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "You're a bastard."

This time, it was Harry who shrugged. "That's not a question, maybe you should've stuck with the stock lines, after all. _Avada __Kedavra__._"

A quick death was too good for the man, but today's task was more important than paying a single wizard back, ounce-for-ounce, for everything he'd done in the name of his master. Stage two of his plan for Damon Greengrass was set to begin soon.

A few minutes later, Harry realized how charming Diagon Alley could be in the morning glow, nice and clean before shoppers took to the streets. But he couldn't gawk since business owners would arrive soon, and he wanted to be finished with his work and gone by then.

Four minutes later, Damon Greengrass's body hung below the roof of Gringotts with a Sticking Charm, though it'd stay hidden for three hours. Then, when the alley was full of morning shoppers, it, and the list of deeds he confessed to, would appear in a flash, drawing everyone's attention to the body of the Death Eater and the crimes for which he was executed.

Harry Apparated to his cave and made a breakfast of discarded bread and stolen tomatoes, having finished the food a week ago that Jaycinda gave him. He thought over what he learned the previous night. First, Death Eaters had captured an Order member and were planning to use the wizard as bait. Greengrass couldn't give a name, but the description was too close to someone Harry knew. He'd have to rush his plans to hit the last Ministry Worker and see what he could find out. The other bit of news was that the Malfoys were still the key to getting to Voldemort. So if Harry found the ponce—either of them, really—he'd have a way into Riddle's inner circle.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Gabrielle lounged on her bed with library books from Durmstrang spread out over the lavender blanket. She suspected that if Professor Sirko knew the reason she wanted them, he'd never have personally allowed her borrowing privileges. But that wasn't her problem; he should've known that she wouldn't let Fleur disappear again. Gabrielle memorized each step of the ritual she was studying. The trick was performing it in front of Fleur without being stopped.

Maybe Fleur would be reasonable and just agree? Wait—Fleur, reasonable? Gabrielle laughed. Good luck with that.

She heard footsteps in the hall and slid the book under her covers, along with a vial of potion, then grabbed her Transfiguration book and flipped it open at random.

Paige stuck her head in the room. "Thought you might want to know that Fleur just Apparated home."

Gabrielle hopped off her bed and joined her parents in the larger sitting room. Paige sat in one of the chairs next to the fireplace and a moment later, the front door opened.

At first sight of her sister, Gabrielle thought twice about her plan. Fleur radiated rage, and it wasn't that of a lovesick teenager or silly Veela tantrum, either. She controlled this rage, focused it, and her presence commanded the attention of every Veela in the room.

A tendril of submission weaved through her and Gabrielle felt almost as though she needed to kneel. But then something deep within her stirred, it was a desire to take control and drive Fleur into submission, instead. But Fleur was her older sister! And she had so much experience in the world, Gabrielle argued with herself. It was ridiculous to think that Fleur should submit to her, wasn't it?

No, it wasn't.

"What happened?" Maman asked, breaking into Gabrielle's thoughts.

Fleur was now standing in the middle of the room. "Nothing good."

"You didn't expect anything else, did you?"

"Not really, but, I don't know. I just had to . . ."

"You had to try, right?" Maman ask.

"Yeah."

"Trust me, I understand. So what are your plans, now?"

"I guess I'll go alone, I don't think I have another choice."

Papa cleared his throat. "You do; me."

"No, Papa, you can't," Fleur said. "We move and fight differently than humans."

Papa opened his mouth to argue, but Maman laid a hand on his knee. "She's right. Fleur would be safer going with another Veela—"

"Then I'll go," Paige offered.

"No," Maman said. "Absolutely not. I will—"

"Stay here," Fleur interrupted. "And take care of Papa and Gabrielle."

Take care of me? Gabrielle felt the heat of her anger rising. There was no way in Abaddan's lair she'd let Fleur go alone! And then, the urge to demand Fleur's submission flared again.

"But you need someone with you!" Maman was saying. "It's too dangerous by yourself."

Then, before Fleur could answer, the front door opened. Two feet pounded up the stairs. "Fleur Delacour!" A voice boomed.

Grandma? What is she . . . ?

Grandma reached the top of the stairs. "Explain!"

"What are you talking about?" Maman asked.

Grandma turned, then flung a hand in Fleur's general direction. "She didn't tell you?"

"Not yet," Fleur said. "We were talking about more important things."

"More important?" Grandma was on the verge of yelling. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Do you realize what you've just done?"

"I know exactly what I did!" Fleur answered. "And if they took offense to it, even better."

"Fleur," Maman cut in. "Could you tell me what happened?"

And the rest of us! Gabrielle thought.

"I renounced the Zekānōt and the Veela nation."

Maman's eyes popped wide. "What? How?"

"The ceremony," Grandma said.

A hush fell upon the four older Veela. Although Gabrielle didn't understand what they were talking about, she could sense the importance since the room felt as though it ran out of air.

"Fleur, could you explain this ceremony to me?" Papa asked.

"And why you did it." Maman added.

So Fleur did, making sure to include the barbs against Grandma and the arrogance of the Veela in general. Gabrielle listened with rapt attention, shaking her head at the stupidity. When Fleur finished, she headed for her room, and asked Fleur to join her when she finished speaking with their parents.

Gabrielle passed the time reading the ritual again, and then made sure that she memorized it correctly. After that, she filled a backpack and wondered what she should take for a war. For clothes, dresses and skirts were out. It was a pain to duel while wearing them, so she decided on jeans and an assortment of cotton shirts. She supplemented that with a few personal items, her favorite pillow, and her old wand (just in case).

Then, searching in the bottom of a drawer for a scrunchy, she found an old newspaper photo of Harry and his redheaded friend carrying her out of the lake. The picture made her chest hurt, but she couldn't grow emotional, not now. Fleur might come in at any moment and she needed her wits about her.

So she decided to slide it into a thin hardback book of spells alongside Harry's last letter, then shoved the book into her backpack. But despite her best efforts, she was still too overcome with memories to hear the door open.

"Being summoned to my little sister's room is a different experience—" Fleur eyebrows came together and she gestured toward the backpack on the bed. "What is that?"

"What is what?" Gabrielle asked.

"That." Fleur pointed this time. "I hope you don't think you're going with me."

At least that settled Gabrielle's conscience. If Fleur was too stubborn for her own good, then Gabrielle was right to take matters into her own hands. She just had to pull off the innocent-little-sister role once last time. "Oh, that?" She picked it up. "It's, it's just memories and stuff."

Fleur didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then she sighed. "Why do I keep getting the feeling that you're only telling me half of the truth lately?"

"I don't know." Gabrielle sat on her bed and patted the backpack. "You're welcomed to take it; I'll pile the stuff in the closet." Then she wiped at her eyes, and as she hoped, Fleur sat on the bed next to her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

"S'okay." Gabrielle reached into her bag and retrieved the letter. "I never showed you this." She unfolded it and read aloud.

**~ . ~ . ~**

_Gabrielle,_

_I'm sorry. I know that doesn't mean much now, but I'm so sorry about Fleur, I . . . I have a thousand things I wanted to say, but I can't find words for any of them, except that I wish I would have been strong enough to lie and tell her I didn't care for her. Maybe, if I kept her away, she'd still be alive. I should've known . . . _

_Anyway, I have one last favor to ask of you. Would you adopt Hedwig? She loved Fleur and maybe the two of you can help each other. She was my first friend and has been with me through very bad times, but where I'm going, I can't take her. I've given her a command never to look for me, so she really has nowhere else to go. Please take care of her._

_Even if you hate me now (and you have every reason to), I'll always be thankful that you were my little sister._

_Harry_

**~ . ~ . ~**

The letter shook in her hands. This wasn't good; she needed to control her emotions and do the ritual!

Thankfully, Fleur eased it from her. "When did you get this?"

"The night you died, Hedwig was waiting for me in my room until I came home. I've never seen an owl so forlorn."

"I doubt there's ever been an owl like her," Fleur said. "Have you seen her since you've been home?"

Gabrielle gazed out the window towards the owlery. "She hasn't flown since the morning after I got that, except to eat. I've tried to get her to take a letter to a friend at Beauxbatons, but she refused."

Fleur mumbled something about going to see her, but her words were choked, as if she were having problems breathing. Gabrielle figured that it had something to do with the note that she was absentmindedly rubbing her fingers across, tracing the quill marks.

And even though it'd caused still more pain, Gabrielle decided it was time to pull out the newspaper photo. "I found this stuffed in the drawer I put it in after Harry arrived last summer. It was just a few days after everything happened and I figured he didn't need the reminder." She handed it to Fleur, whose eyes now glistened. Gabrielle felt horrible about it, but she needed the distraction.

So while her sister studied the picture, Gabrielle eased the door shut, and then sat on Fleur's other side on the bed. Her sister's glistening had turned into tears as she caressed the picture with her fingertips. Then, to Gabrielle's surprise, they came to rest on the redheaded boy instead of Harry.

"His name was Ron," Fleur answered the unspoken question. "I was rude to him the only time he spoke to me. If I only knew . . . He and his entire family were so brave, even his baby sister fought that night." She shook her head. "I didn't think about it until now, but when we found their bodies, all the spell damage was in the front."

"What does that mean?" Gabrielle gripped her wand, waiting for the right moment.

"None of them turned their back to run. They cared enough to stand and fight, unlike the Zekānōt that—Ouch!"

Gabrielle worked fast, hitting Fleur with the point of her wand while uttering a Cutting Curse. Then she stepped back and reached for the potion while Fleur looked at her arm in shock, then up at her. "Gabby?"

"I care enough to stand and fight, too." She said by way of answer, and wiped the blood off her wand and into the vial. Then she shook it and then dotted the back of her hand and her forehead with mixed blood-potion.

"What are you doing?" Fleur's voice rose in pitch. Any moment now, she'd recognize—

"_Incarcerous!_"Gabrielle barely got the spell off when Fleur dove across the bed for her. At least she couldn't interrupt now—then again, if she ever had to do this again, it might be smarter to bind her sister _first_, then start the ritual.

Gabrielle cut herself and then wiped her own blood on the palm of Fleur's right hand. The look of horror in Fleur's eyes meant she understood exactly what Gabrielle was doing. Speed was important now, before Fleur could break the spell. Gabrielle dropped her wand and smeared the mixed blood-potion on one hand, and then her own blood on the other one, and then she began chanting.

"_Na__ḫ__nani__̇̄__s__̌__u ka__̄__s__̌__im_;_ nas__̣__a__̄__ru ka__̄__s__̌__im_;_ mua__̄__tum be__̂__lumya_."

She repeated it a third and fourth time, touching Fleur's palm with her blood, then the back of her right hand and her forehead with the blood-potion mix.

"I serve you, I guard you, I shall die for my master," she continued in the strange language. Somewhere she read that it was Akkadian. She had to repeat the chant seven times, and Gabrielle was so intent on it that she missed Fleur's foot when it twitched.

She finished the chant, picked up her wand, and turned it toward herself to cast the last spell that would mark her as a Fleur's Veela-bondservant, finishing the ritual; but she didn't get the chance. Fleur smashed into her, then they both crashed through the bedroom door, tumbling into the hall as wood and plaster scattered everywhere. Fleur ended up on her knees with Gabrielle's wand, hissing when it had stung her and she flung it down the hall.

As soon as Gabrielle saw it, she twisted so hard and fast that Fleur fell over, and she planted a knee on her sister's chest. Then she launched for the wand, but felt Fleur grab her ankle and yank. Gabrielle hit the floor hard and before she could move, Fleur had rolled her over and pinned her again.

"HELP!" Fleur screamed.

By now, Gabrielle's heart was racing and tears streaked down her cheeks. She was so close to finishing the ritual! With a pained effort, she twisted her hips and shoulders, throwing Fleur off-balance again and crashing through another wall. She tried to get up, but Fleur had wrapped her legs around her and squeezed, tripping her. Gabby fell back to the ground, her hand now inches from her wand. "Let me go!" she cried, but Fleur held tight until others came running down the hall.

"Girls? What have you done?"

It made Gabrielle feel three years old again, so she decided to go with it. "Tell Fleur to get her hands off me!"

"Not on your life!" Fleur said. "Take her wand, mine too."

"No!" Gabrielle squirmed forward again and more tears rolled down her cheeks. "Leave me alone! I'm an adult! It's my choice!"

"It's a stupid choice!" Fleur countered.

"Girls!" Maman repeated, with authority this time. "Someone better explain to me what's happening, and I mean now!"

Grandma, standing behind her, sucked in a breath. "Apolline, look at all the blood."

Maman shook her head. "They're going to bleed a lot more in a minute!"

Gabrielle caught Paige trying to hide a giggle, but then her face lit with understanding and she blanched. "Gabrielle!" Paige kicked the wand away from her reaching hand, then picked it up, wincing like Fleur did, but she held on to it.

And then it was Maman's turn to understand, and she too turned white. In a voice barely loud enough to hear, she spoke to Fleur. "Let her go."

Fleur obeyed, and Gabrielle sat up. Maman reached for her, but she leaned away. "You can't keep me away from a wand forever!"

"Wanna bet?" Paige said.

She glared at her cousin until Fleur asked, "Why would you enslave yourself to me?"

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Oh, grow up. It's not slavery!"

"Yes, it is!" Fleur countered.

"No, it's not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Silence!" Papa demanded, standing behind everyone else.

A small part of Gabrielle's brain wondered if Fleur was feeling about three years old as well. So she leaned a little closer to her big sister. "Is not," she whispered.

Fleur glared at her and looked ready to start the argument all over again when Grandma interrupted. "I hate to admit it, but Gabrielle's right." Gabrielle and Fleur both turned and looked at her. "For centuries we've called it a bond-slave ceremony, but the Zekānōt knows better."

"Told you!"

"Shut up!" Fleur answered.

"You shut up!"

Paige looked torn between unleashing unholy terror on Gabrielle, and laughing uproariously at the two sisters arguing as if they both just graduated from nappies.

"Gabby," Grandma began, "What do you know about the ritual?"

"It's a pledge of protection. Something our foremothers gave their leaders, right?"

"Almost." Grandma took Gabrielle's wand from Paige, who was twitching from the random shocks. "If you promise to hold off until we talk about it, I'll give you your wand back."

"No!" Fleur interjected.

"Go ahead." Papa was still standing behind everyone else. With this many Veela around, he usually let Maman handle things, but not tonight for some reason. "Let her finish the ritual if she wants."

Gabrielle looked at him, shocked, and hopeful, but it proved short-lived.

"And once she does, I'll chain her to my desk at work and her bed at home. I'll be damned if both my daughters run to their deaths in Britain while I'm pushing paper in a Ministry office back home."

Anger built inside Gabrielle's chest once again. From where it came, she had no idea. But she did know that nobody, not even Papa, would stop her from finding her big brother. "Why can't any of you comprehend the word, _adult?_ As in: I am an _adult _by Veela law!"

"Because I comprehend the words: _die __and__ war_," Papa answered. "As in: people _die_ in _war_. I can't keep Fleur from leaving; but you're not a legal adult according to _French__ Vulgaire_ law, which means you can't get the paperwork to legally enter the UK, except by parent's consent."

Gabrielle huffed. "It's not like we're going through customs! Besides, all that new European Union stuff changed that!"

"Not yet it hasn't, and I won't give consent, either."

"Then I'll sneak away."

Papa glared at her. Last year during her changes, she thought that he was always angry with her, but in an ironic twist, Fleur was right, Papa wasn't angry at all. He was just worried. But now, he was angry—beyond that, even, he was _mad_, and she could absolutely tell the difference!

"You're that anxious to fight?" Papa asked. "Then get upstairs. We'll see how long you'll last."

Gabrielle snatched her wand from Grandma's hand and marched up the stairs to the open space where they had held their Christmas party. Papa faced her from the other side. "There are no dueling wards, so every spell you cast is real. Let's see how ready you are to fight a war!"

Gabrielle brought her wand up, and then had to dive as three curses that she couldn't even describe streaked through the space where she stood a moment before. But even as she hit the floor, a pink curse caught her in the ribs. It blasted her back against the wall, and then she fell to her knees. Her ribs and back screamed in pain and tears welled up in her eyes. Then another curse hit her and lifted her back up, slamming her head into the wall once again. This time, she crumpled to the floor in a daze.

"Get up!" Papa yelled. "You can't lie around in a war."

"Jacque!" Maman cut in, "Don't you think that's enough?"

"No! Now shut up, Apolline. It'll be enough when I say it is."

Maman, Paige, and Fleur stared, open-mouthed, but Grandma's jaw was set firm and she seemed to agree with Papa, for the moment.

"I said, get up!" he yelled again. "You had better do it, NOW, before I start sending more curses! If I were your real enemy, I would have killed you thrice-over!"

Gabrielle wobbled as she stood, and she had to catch herself on the wall. But for all of his harsh words, Papa held back, waiting until she was ready, then he let her attack. She launched a spell and moved right into a follow-up, but not even half way through the wand movement, another curse drilled her in the chest and she somersaulted backwards into the wall a third time. Then another Curse hit just above her head and it exploded, leaving her head pounding and her ears ringing.

"Tell me now; do you really think you're ready to fight? This isn't a game, Gabby. You don't get to yell _time out_ whenever you get a little owie."

And then, her magic surged like never before and her avian nature came to the forefront. Gabrielle felt a shift coming, but not into her bird form. Instead, a second, more powerful and warlike creature ached to break its chains, and with it, the desire to protect and fight for that which she loved. Gabrielle rose to her feet. "Again, Papa!"

He shook his head. "No, I don't want to hurt you." Their eyes met and his shoulders sank. "I'm sorry, honey; I should've listened to Apolline."

But she didn't want his apology, or his sympathy. And years later, she'd swear that she had no idea from where her next words came.

Gabrielle squared her shoulders and raised her wand. "I said, 'again!' Or are you too tired, you old bastard? Maybe you're just too chicken shit to take on a little girl!"

A look that made Gabrielle's blood run cold shot across his face before he hid it behind a blank mask. And for the first time, Gabrielle truly understood that her Papa had killed people in war.

"If I win, it's over." He said.

"And if I win, I'm going."

Gabrielle called on every bit of her heritage, Avian and human alike. Curses flew at her, but this time her Veela magic worked in concert with her regular magic and she could sense Papa's spell casting, his anger, his worries, and his hurt. Her human magic reacted and before she even thought about it, a Shield Charm blossomed before her. Spells reflected of it and Papa sidestepped them, casting a Pain Curse as a diversion.

But Gabrielle had followed the rebounded curses forward and shielded again. And this time, as soon as the Pain Curse ricocheted off her shield, she jumped and began the shift into her bird form, but without accounting for her clothes—on purpose. Fabric exploded in all directions, and for a split-second, a naked Gabrielle sailed into the air. The sight caused Papa to pause long enough that she finished her transformation, gave one strong push with her wings, and then came down on him, claws first, and sunk her talons into his chest until they clicked against bone. Her other claw landed squarely on his neck, even as her momentum drove him to the floor.

She shifted from her avian form and stood atop him, bare-naked with one foot still on his neck and the other still on his chest. "If this was a war, I would've ripped your head from your shoulders." She stepped off him, cast a charm to gather the remnants of her clothes, and a second one to repair them, and then got dressed in silence.

Or almost silence. Papa disappeared down the stairs that led to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard that the nearest window cracked. The rest of them shook on their sills.

But Gabrielle ignored it and walked over to Fleur. "You don't have a choice. Either you're taking me with you, or I'll cast the mark and complete the ritual, then find you through our magic. Either way, I'm coming."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry gripped his wand and readied himself for the arrival of his guest, thankful that this was the last name on the list he received from Pansy, and so far, there was no need to use Dobby. But this visit was also the one he fretted over the most, for many reasons. She was dangerous. And honestly, if she were passing information to Voldemort, then the war was all ready finished.

A bump announced her arrival, followed by a series of concussive blasts. Harry dropped to his stomach and hit her with a Tripping Jinx around the ankles. But on her way down, Madame Bones let loose a Cutting Curse that took Harry across the chest. He grunted, but managed to stay upright and let loose a Disarming Charm. Her wand jumped into the air and Madame Bones followed it, racing toward Harry in the small cave and crashing into him, knocking them both to the floor.

Thankfully, Harry kept his wits about him and held onto his wand. He managed an _Incarcerous_ Spell, though he would never be able to explain how he did it without getting himself bound up in it. He hit her with a Charm to check for tracking, and then started his cave jumping until he ended up on the north end of Great Britain. Once there, he removed the gag that came with the Binding Spell.

"You had better kill me quickly, whoever you are. Because, if I manage to escape, I will burn down your world."

Despite everything, Harry was impressed; _t__hat _is how you threatened someone! "Fine, but before you light that match, I'd like you to explain why you're giving information to Riddle."

Madame Bones sneered. "You're inexperienced, boy. Only a few wizards know that name, and fewer yet dare speak it. That means you're not one of his, and if I had to guess, you're an ex-member of Dumbledore's old group."

The cold logic rocked Harry back on his heels. He'd never even thought how his words exposed him—how they revealed parts of himself to others. And then, the way Madame Bones handled herself, it showed just how much he still needed to learn. Even the Horcrux was silent, knowing that he was outmatched. He needed to be careful, very careful. And part of that was not letting her get control. "Answer the question."

"You never asked one."

Harry's follow-up stuck in his throat, she was right, he didn't actually ask, did he? Bloody hell, she was quick. "All right, why are you giving information to Riddle?"

"Why haven't you hit puberty yet?" She said, without missing a beat.

Damn, that one stung! If they won this war and Madame Bones proved loyal, he'd find her and take lessons in intimidation. Well, at least he had a trump card, though he didn't know how well it'd play.

"How's your niece, Susan Bones, I think her name is? I hear puberty was good to her."

Madame Bones froze, and Harry almost apologized. It was one thing to threaten the family of Death Eaters, but here? and about people for whom he cared? Even if he had no intent—and he didn't—it still turned his stomach and he gave in a little. "Just tell me what I want to know," he continued.

Maybe there was a slight hint of remorse in his voice, he did know. But whatever it was, Madame Bones caught it and made a decision about him. "Face me like a man instead of hiding in the shadows, and I'll tell you."

He figured that she was his last "interview," so doing so wouldn't tip his hand. And he'd all ready shown himself to the world a week ago, so exposure wasn't a problem, either. Harry cast a charm, amplifying the moonlight shining into the cave high above. Then he watched Madame Bones as she looked around for him. When their eyes met, it took her a few seconds . . .

"Potter?"

"Hello, Madame Bones."

Her shoulders slumped. "Cancel the spell and we'll talk."

It was tempting, but first he needed a few answers before he felt safe doing so. "Answer my question, then I'll think about it."

She smiled. "Now you're being smart. So you're the one that kidnapped Mr. Dobbs."

Seriously? Harry was tired of being caught off-guard all ready, and they had just started! He decided just to be blunt. "How did you figure that out?"

"I have my ways, and that was a nice Memory Charm you did on him. Should I ask where you got it from?"

"No," he said.

"Didn't think so. What did you want from him?"

Harry almost answered, before realizing she was trying to control the encounter again. "The same thing I want from you. Don't change topics."

"Very good," she said. "You won't believe the difficulty I have teaching Auror-recruits how to avoid misdirection. Answer me one question, then I promise I'll cooperate as much as possible. Yes or no, are you in the game for good?"

"Yes."

A wicked smile creased her lips. "Excellent. You and Neville have them bricking their trousers. Now, I can't tell you much since Mr. Dobbs and I are running a disinformation campaign, so we aren't on the intelligence gathering side of the house, but I do know a few things, like the fact that they have Charlie Weasley in a Death Eater safe house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade."

A ball peen hammer between the eyes would have felt better. The last Weasley . . . "Why hasn't Neville attempted to rescue him?"

"Death Eaters know Neville's the only one mad enough to pull it off. So whenever we create a diversion, they flock to the house, grab Charlie, and Apparate somewhere else. And before you ask why we try to create a diversion, it'd be suicide if we didn't."

At least that matched what Harry learned a few days ago from another Death Eater, after his meeting with Greengrass.

"Neville's planning on raiding a safe house a week from tonight," she continued. "Wait until then. They'll be off guard after Neville's attack; they never go twice the same night. It's one of his few patterns."

"So why are you telling me this?" Harry brought his wand eye-level. "That's not the kind of information I'd expect the Head of DMLE to be sharing freely. What did I say to you when we met in the Weasleys' kitchen?"

"You said quite a bit, actually, but your first words concerned Sirius Black's innocence, and what would happen if I didn't agree with you."

"And who was with you?"

"My niece and Ms. Chang; Remus Lupin, Molly Weasley, and your godfather were there as well. You spent most of the afternoon on the couch talking to Susan and Cho, that is, after you informed Cho that her boyfriend was dead."

Harry lowered his wand. "Fine, I believe it's you, but you're taking a pretty big risk volunteering information, aren't you?"

"No," she answered without hesitation. "I want Charlie back safe. Auror Tonks is going spare with worry. And if there's anyone I trust to hate Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters, it's my niece, Neville, and you. So I have no doubt what side you're on."

Harry bowed to the logic, again feeling inadequate in her presence. He released the ropes, and then they spent the next hour exchanging information and catching up on his friends, though he declined an invitation to go with her to see them. His path was a lonely one, and those who tried to walk it with him, died along the way. He was not going to be responsible for anyone else's death—or more specifically, anyone about whom he cared. There were others that he could list, and for them, all he cared about was their death.

They were almost finished hen Madame Bones asked, "How did you find twig onto our operation, anyway?"

"You don't want to know," Harry answered.

She thought on that for a moment. "Ms. Parkinson is still broken up over the death of her friend."

He stared straight into her eyes. "A shame how that happened."

Madame Bones touched his shoulder. "I agree. But a word of caution: don't lose yourself in all of this, Harry; I know it's been hard, but trust me when I say there's life after war if you don't lose your soul in the process."

"I don't have a soul anymore, nor do I want one." He broke her gaze, then handed her a piece of rope. "A Portkey to your front gates, just outside your wards."

She dropped her tough exterior for a moment and grabbed his forearm. "Don't be an idiot, Harry, your soul is very alive." Then she changed the topic, returning to her normal self in the process. "You're lucky you didn't try to Portkey me here."

"I know. They're traceable if your wards stop them."

She looked up through raised eyebrows. "Then you got more out of Mr. Dobbs than I thought possible. Again, I'm impressed. Keep your heart beating, and I'll see you on the other side of this bloody war." She touched the Portkey and disappeared.

Harry looked around to make sure he'd left nothing behind, then Apparated three times, before arriving at his cave, dizzy from the jumps and worn out from a night mentally dueling Madame Bones.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur took a deep breath, and then knocked on the door.

"Come in."

She did, shutting the door behind her and then sat on Gabrielle's bed without saying a word. Gabrielle fumbled with something on her dresser, but finally gave up and sat next on the bed next to her.

"You're a brat, you know that?" Fleur said by way of opening.

Gabrielle wiped at something in her eye. "That's better than what I thought you'd call me."

"Yeah, well, I figured out your problem.

"What's that?"

Fleur scratched at her ear. "You're too much like me in some ways." She watched Gabrielle fight off a smile and continued. "No matter what I say; you're going to find a way to join me, aren't you?"

"If it kills me."

"Not exactly the best choice of words, considering." Fleur let go, then drew a knee up onto the bed, and faced her. "What Papa said was true, it's the same thing Markus was talking about at Durmstrang. If you stop moving in a fight, you're dead. If you make a mistake, you're dead. The only reason I'm alive is because 'Arry covered my mistakes, and even then . . ." She shook her head. "Look, I want to make sure you understand the choice you're making."

Gabrielle met her gaze. "Do you honestly think that I just decided to do this yesterday?"

"Of course not, but how long could you have—" Staring at her younger sister, it all clicked: those feelings Fleur had that she was missing something, Gabrielle's dueling lessons, the new wand, and the trips to Durmstrang and all the questions she'd asked about odd kinds of magic up there . . . The little witch had planned this—"

"Since last summer, when I realized that he was going back," she confirmed.

"We weren't even dating then."

"I know—you were more like an old married couple."

Fleur cuffed her on the arm.

"I knew you'd go with him, even if you were fighting. The more you tried to hate him, the more it was obvious how much you loved him. I didn't know at first if I'd be able to help, so I started with the dueling class, just to see. And then from there . . . it just started coming naturally, like earlier with Papa."

"Speaking of which, he gave you a pretty sound thrashing. You know most of his spells were barely love-taps compared to what he could do, right?"

Gabrielle nodded. "I figured so. But there was no way I was quitting. Then . . . remember how you told me about having another form that wanted to come out, and later, you realized it was your warrior form?"

Fleur pursed her lips. "Why, did you feel it too?"

"Yeah, that's what happened upstairs when I finally beat Papa. It's as if that thing took over and fused my human and Veela magic, even though I never knew they were separated. And then everything moved so fast in my head. I could sense the spells by sensing Papa's emotions, and my human magic responded, knowing the right way to counter it because of dueling class and Durmstrang. I can't explain it, Fleur, but it's done. There's no going back . . . why are you smiling?"

That made Fleur smile even larger. "The night before we left Durmstrang, that's what happened when I fought Markus. I was caught so off guard that he got me in the chest with a spell, but I knew that'd be the last time."

"Then you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good, I'm not going insane."

Fleur laughed. "I'm think you all ready are." Then she turned serious. "I need to ask you a question, and I want you to be absolutely honest with me."

Gabrielle nodded. "I'll try."

"If you aren't, then I'll have Papa tie you to his desk at work and you can't come with me."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes, "Fine, I'll be honest with you, what's the question?"

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why do you want to go? And don't say it's because of me, because, if you were planning this since last summer, you would've thought 'Arry . . ." Fleur covered her mouth. Now, sitting in her room and thinking about all the pictures that she used to have of him lining the walls, it seemed so obvious. "Oh, Gabby, I'm sorry, when I marked him, I didn't think about how you'd . . ."

"How I what?" Gabrielle asked. "You . . . wait, you think I'm in love with 'Arry?"

"Weren't you? Back then?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "I had a serious crush on him after the second task, enough that, well, you remember what happened when I saw him, and my reactions were even worse that night after my transformation." A light pink hue colored her cheeks. "But I wasn't in love with him."

Fleur crossed her arms. "Are you sure?"

Gabrielle sighed. "Yeah, the night I exploded out of my clothes, I laid awake thinking about the two of you, and it just felt right. I got over him that same night."

"But what if that was the mark doing that to you?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "It wasn't. You two belong together. And, even if you died last spring and I had him all to myself, I still wouldn't feel like that about him."

"Seriously? I mean, you just _saw _him, and it launched you into your transformation, are you telling me that, now, there's no way you'd be with him?"

A smirk creased Gabrielle's lips. "I'm not saying I wouldn't let him do naked push-ups on me until I made guttural animal noises, but . . ."

Fleur's mind went blank. Whether it was the idea of Harry's naked push-ups, or her not-so-little sister not being as innocent as she thought (or hoped), Fleur had no idea. But when her thoughts kicked in again, she giggled. "Interesting mental picture, I guess your few months at Beauxbatons with Danielle taught you a few things."

Gabrielle shivered. "You have no idea."

"I roomed with Paige, trust me, I probably do. And I'd like you to finish your comment."

"What, that I wouldn't have him as a boyfriend? I couldn't. And honestly, now that I'm thinking about it, I doubt I'd go pecking for his worm, either. I just can't think about him like that anymore, though it is a shame." Then she turned pink again.

"Gabby?"

"I, uh, kind of lied to 'Arry."

"About what?"

Her little sister went from pink to red, and Fleur decided that she _had _to know what that was about.

"Come on, Gabby, you can't stop now."

"Wanna bet?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes, though it was countered by a large grin. "Tell me!"

And then, if possible, Gabrielle grew even redder. "Fine! I, um, the night of the Christmas party . . . I saw more of him in the shower than I let on."

"Oh? Just how much of _my boyfriend_ did you see?" she teased.

"He wasn't your boyfriend then! And—" Gabrielle hid her face "—maybe all of him?"

"Gabrielle!"

She looked back up and glared at Fleur. "I didn't mean too! It was just there"—she waved a hand in the air—"flapping around, and it caught my eye! And you don't have to worry, I think you'll be very happy!"

"GABBY!"

Then Gabrielle started giggling. She couldn't stop, which set off Fleur giggling until they both broke into a fit of laughter.

It took a few minutes for them to compose themselves again. But once they did, Fleur asked, "So who are you interested in?"

"No one, really," she answered. "When Papa and 'Arry are the standard by which I judge wizards, it makes it pretty difficult, no?"

Fleur agreed, then decided to redirect the conversation back to her main purpose for being there. "So, if you're not in love with 'Arry, why do you want to go so bad?"

Gabrielle pulled her knee up on the bed, mirroring Fleur. "Take your pick: he's family, I love him, I blame myself for him leaving; I don't know." She bounced a finger off her lips in thought. "But more than all of that, I guess it's just what I need to do, and the more my Veela instincts come out, the more I know it to be true."

Fleur dropped her head to her chest. "I really hate you right now."

"Because your Veela instincts are telling you the same thing?"

As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn't. "Unfortunately, yeah, they are."

Gabrielle beamed at her. Fleur swallowed the lump in her throat and wondered how much this decision would change her life. "All right, if you're coming, then here are the rules. First, you will obey me. I know you're an adult, but you've not seen what I have. So when I say we need to leave, or stay quiet, or that we can't go somewhere or do something, you have to promise me that you won't argue. If you do, I'll Portkey your cute Veela ass home immediately."

She nodded.

"And I doubt we'll be sleeping in a bed and eating three solid meals a day, either. This isn't a summer campout. I have no idea where we'll be sleeping. And it might be months before we see another bed or home-cooked meal."

She nodded again.

"And one other thing." Fleur had to clear her throat. "If you die, I will be pissed off at you for the rest of eternity."

Gabrielle leaned in and hugged her. "Thanks."

"I'm still not happy about it, but I understand." Fleur let her go. "You know I could've let you finish the ritual, then ordered you to stay home, right?"

"I kind of figured that's what you'd do, and I was surprised that you broke the spell so fast."

Fleur scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. "Then why even try?"

Gabrielle smiled. "Because I made sure there were no magical consequences for disobeying you if I didn't intend to bring you harm. You would've left, but the first time you were in the slightest bit of danger, I would've felt it and followed the pull in the magic, right to where you were."

Fleur shook her head. "'Arry was right, you are wicked."

**~ . ~ . ~**

They planned to leave the next morning, but Papa visited later that evening and convinced them to stay three more days so he could help them prepare. Then, after he and Gabrielle had a heart-to-heart conversation and she apologized for standing on him while naked (it took three shots of whiskey for him to get through that part of the conversation), and he apologized for going too far in their duel, they turned to the maps and discussed plans and strategy, which occasioned the two visitors coming up the stairs the next afternoon.

Uncle Philippe came straight to Fleur and told her off for going back to the UK, and then he pulled her into a hug and said he'd help in any way possible. He then let her go, and disappeared into the smaller sitting room with everyone else. Uncle Anselme hovered by the top of the stairs. "Fleur, how are you?"

"Nervous," she admitted.

"I can believe that."

An uncomfortable silence passed between them before Fleur said, "Papa told us about you being sick. Are you feeling any better?"

"A little," he answered. "My Healers leveled my dosages and changed a couple of potions so I wouldn't be as susceptible . . . but I guess that doesn't matter, now." He looked away. "I just wanted to come by . . ."

Fleur decided that she was fed up with the situation, crossed the room, and hugged him. "Papa told me about the potions. I don't blame you, and you're still my Uncle."

He let her go and stepped back. "Thanks, but you should blame me." Then, before she could argue, he held up a hand. "Learn from my mistake: I should have asked about the potential effects. Trust and verify everything, because, if you don't, then something that might seem harmless may end up getting you, or someone you love killed. Got it?"

Fleur let that sink in. "I still don't blame you."

A ghost of a grin emerged. "That's because you're as hardheaded as your Papa, but thanks."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Speaking of which, how are you and Papa doing?"

"Okay, I think; he invited me today, though that may be more because he likes the way I make Pan-bagnats."

"Yuck!" Fleur's nose crinkled. "Do you still use anchovies, hard-boiled eggs, and fava beans?"

He chuckled. "I've switched out the beans for artichokes."

"Just as bad," Fleur said. "Though it'd be entertaining to watch you fight with Froissé for control of the kitchen. My money's on the house elf."

"So's mine." Papa stepped out of his bedroom. "Anselme, thank you for coming."

"Thanks for trusting me again, I know that wasn't easy."

Papa glanced at Fleur. "It wasn't, but you don't make the same mistake twice, and my daughters could really use your help."

Fleur felt something pass between the two wizards. She understood later, when Uncle Anselme violated at least six different laws that she was familiar with from her time at the Ministry, as he gave her and Gabrielle a top-level briefing on the war.

Uncle Philippe was just as bad, filling in the latest information since Uncle Anselme had retired.

Then after dinner, Grandma worked with them on fighting as Veela. Cousins poured in to help until it resembled a family reunion in the open room upstairs. When they'd finished, Grandma sat everyone down and explained the ritual Gabrielle had started.

The oath itself was five thousand years old, originating in the Akkad Empire of all places. A European tribe had crossed the mountains and established Sumer, the first civilization, in modern-day Iraq. Later, Akkad soaked up much of the Sumerian legends and language, and somewhere in that time, Veela culture came into its own. They began to move west, soaking up parts of other cultures through the millennia. That explained how they had slices of Akkadian, Hebrew, and Greek languages in their culture, not to mention Phoenician, Hatti, and Hittite ("No," Grandma said when Danielle argued that the last two were the same, "they are very different empires!") among others.

But what really threw Fleur was the story of the Zekānōt origins. They had formed due to something called the mating wars. A flock would raid another's settlement, stealing their mates and breaking the mark, and then they'd mark the males themselves. But such actions resulted in brutal retaliations, up to and including wiping out entire flocks. As a result, the strongest among them—the warrior Veela—began marking all stolen mates and then parceling them out to the others in their flock. That, however, led to massive attacks directed at the warrior Veela themselves, rather than the flock at large, to break the mark by killing them.

After a few years, what remained of those early Flock Leaders came to understand that it was only a small amount of time before they went the way of the Unbreasted Ones. So they came together, formed the Zekānōt, and hammered out the basic concept by which all Veela now abide. They even found a way to manipulate a Veela's magic so it'd punish her for going after a male if they'd already marked another.

Over time, the Zekānōt's magic became so powerful that they found they could crush any single Veela or group of Veela that defied the Zekānōt, and because of it, loyalty oaths that formerly bound them and their leaders were no longer necessary. That much power was also heady, and so they worked to keep it in check by attributing equal status to all Flock Leaders, regardless of Pecking Order, even though the reality was that the top few Veela could, if they had enough backing, control the entire race.

The story reminded Fleur of how tenuous the entire system was, and why she was glad that she was no longer a part of it. Or at least that's what she told herself as she lay in bed the night before they left, before someone knocked on her door.

"Fleur?"

"What's up, Gabby?"

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Gabrielle slipped in and shut the door, then climbed into bed next to Fleur and curled up against her. "I guess we'll be doing a lot of this over the next few months."

Fleur draped an arm over her shoulder. "Are you second-guessing yourself?"

"No!" Gabrielle answered a little too fast. "Well, maybe some . . ."

"If it makes you feel any better, I've second guessed myself a hundred times all ready. I just keep remembering that 'Arry needs me, and I think he needs you, too."

"I still know it's the right thing to do, but, that helps."

"Good. Where were you, today?"

"I went to see the wand maker again."

"Why?" Fleur asked. "I thought you liked the one you bought?"

"I do, it's just that he asked me to come back before . . . well, I guess he kind of knew what I was planning. He's kind of spooky that way."

"I remember."

"Anyway, he gave me the keys to his store back in Diagonally, whatever that is."

Fleur chuckled. "Diagon Alley, it's their main shopping area. Why did he give you the keys?"

"He has a bed and stuff there, though his Storage Charms aren't that great for anything other than wands, so we might want to skip the food."

"That was nice of him either way. I wonder why he did that." More like worry, but she wasn't going to get her sister wound up the night before they left.

"According to him, it's a perfect place to view the alley. He wrote instructions on rekeying the wards and said you should be able to figure it out. He also taught me some basics on choosing a wand if we needed replacements down the road. We can take them from his store, since he doesn't plan on returning."

Fleur pulled away and looked at her sister. "You got all that from him?"

"Not all today," she admitted. "I've visited him off and on over the last few months and he's been showing me a few things here and there, just in case."

Fleur smiled in the darkness. "You really planned everything out, didn't you?"

"Some of it; other things just fell into place, like someone above is orchestrating everything."

"If so, I hope that's a good thing."

"Me too."

A few minutes later, Fleur heard the softest snore and gazed at her little sister in the moonlight that escaped the drawn curtains. Over the last few weeks, she'd changed so much again. It made the moments like this, when a hint of her little sister resurfaced, very precious.

The next morning they woke up early, gathered their stuff, and collected the emergency Portkeys from Papa, but he had a surprise for them.

"I had a new ward installed yesterday. If someone hitches a ride with you when you're trying to escape, Apparate straight into the house. The wards will recognize you and let you through."

"What about the other person?" Fleur asked.

"They'll be rejected, or at least most of them will be. An arm or a leg or head might get it through, but that'd be all."

Fleur grimaced. "And if it's 'Arry?"

"The master ward recognizes him just like the rest of us, so it's no problem." Papa hugged both her and Gabrielle, activated the Portkey, and then handed it to them. "I love you both, please, be safe and bring 'Arry home."

He looked as though he had a thousand more things he wanted to say. But instead—or maybe because of it—he grew silent and watched as the Portkey gave a tug behind Fleur's navel, then whisked the Delacour sisters away from safety, and straight into the middle of a war.


	23. A Hurricane Awakes

.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**A Hurricane Awakes**

Along the same street as the Hog's Head inn and across the main road stood a house tucked away among overreaching trees. Plywood windows and crumbling steps testified to neglect, but for one glaring exception; an all-encompassing fence denied spying eyes its domain.

But perched atop a roof, Harry had an unencumbered view. He leaned against the chimney, ignoring the bite of rough brick on his shoulder and the wafting odor of stale beer until, in the failing twilight, an explosion of Death Eaters caught his attention. The horde exited the house and Disapparated the moment their feet the grass. Somewhere else in the British isles, if Madame Bones's information had been correct, Neville was raining chaos on his enemies; their enemies. Harry wished him luck before putting his own plans in motion.

He, however, needed a little help. "Dobby!"

The house-elf appeared, arms windmilling and feet slipping on the steep pitch. Harry grabbed a handful of tunic to steady him.

"Dobby be hating big slanties." The elf shot the roof a dirty look, then looked back at Harry. "Is it time for rescuing Dragon-Weasley?"

"Are you ready?" he answered with a question of his own.

"Dobby always being ready!"

Harry gave the house one more glance. "Alright, then, take my cloak. And, no risks, we'll rescue him together."

"Dobby understands." He dropped the cloak over himself. "Dobby be waiting for Greatest Wizard."

"Good, and remember, be safe!"

A dismissive sound escaped from the cloak. "If Maskies can't see; Maskies can't hurt! Dobby being invisible!" Then, an elf-hand appeared. Three fingers and a thumb wiggled and then with a snap, Dobby Disapparated.

Harry chuckled at the elf's showmanship and settled in to wait, praying that Death Eaters wouldn't return until their business in the house was complete.

The minutes piled up, and he passed the time parsing that infuriating poem by Shelley that he never understood. Oh, the words he comprehended, but the deeper meaning lingered just beyond his mental fingertips.

A gentle sound of rustling fabric reached his ears, and he turned to find Dobby pulling off the robe, revealing glazed eyes and breaths that came in shallow, gasping gulps.

"Are you okay?"

Nothing.

Harry laid his hands atop the elf's shoulders. "Dobby, talk to me."

Still nothing.

Fifteen seconds of silence passed before Harry stood and flung the invisibility cloak over his head, a familiar flame burning in his chest. "Go back to Hogwarts. I'll call your name when I have Charlie."

A whisper of an answer finally reached him, "No, not alone," before something primal flitted across Dobby's face.

Harry watched, befuddled by the sudden changes in his friend.

"Not alone," the elf repeated, though stronger this time. "Dobby go with. Last Weasley be locked in cage and magic proofed. Simple for wizard with five fingers, but Dobby not having wizard hands, and Greatest Wizard must be ready. He saving them all."

Wait a second . . . "All?" Harry knelt, ignoring the wood shingles that dug into his knees. "How many are there?"

The elf glared at the offending house. "Dobby no count, but he be seeing wizards, witches, house-elves, werewolves . . . Yes, Dobby go with Greatest Wizard and be saving them all, even nasty goblins."

Then, those big, bulbous eyes came back to Harry as something primal again washed over the elf's face. "Yes, saving all, but only some be rescued; others be saved by making dead. Greatest Wizard understanding soon; put on cloak and Dobby be taking you back."

They arrived in a dank basement behind broken-down bookshelves and before concrete walls on two sides, covered with blood and pieces of flesh. At his feet lay a Death Eater, the cavity in his chest gave context to the decor.

Dobby made a slow, swiping motion with his hand and the body slid along the floor, opening their path before them. "He not bother us now."

"I guess not," he answered.

As planned, Dobby wrapped the silvery material of the cloak around himself and went for one last check on the Death Eaters upstairs.

"Dobby's Silencing Spell good for four minutes," he announced when returned. "And dinner distracting Maskies in kitchen."

Harry nodded, then stepped forward to find fifteen cells; each three feet wide by seven deep, made of metal bars and reinforced with magic; lining each side of the basement. Bodies occupied all but six beds, one in each cell from which the stench of human waste permeated the room and assaulted his nose.

And in the closest cell, lay the still-breathing remnants of an elf. Harry jerked in recognition.

"Winky?"

Winky twitched, then turned toward his voice. All that remained of her right eye was a gaping hole amid the pain etched in her few untouched features, and he doubted she could see him through her ruptured left eye. Ripped flesh served as ears, making it a miracle that she heard him.

The elf whimpered. "Please! No! Winky knows no more. Why Winky be tortured when she tells all she knows?"

Harry pressed himself against cold bars. "Winky, it's me, Harry."

The house-elf whimpered again. "No more, I knows no more. Please." Tears shaded pink with blood welled in her good eye and spilled down her cheek. "Please believes Winky."

A glance at Dobby told Harry he was pointedly ignoring the scene. "Dobby, I need your help."

"No," Dobby answered. "Winky not savable, Dobby told Greatest Wizard what must be done. Winky's life be fading, but not fast enough. Dobby senses Winky wants to go to elf-land, but elf death magic not work against other elves, so Greatest Wizard must send her."

Winky shifted in her bed and let loose a ragged moan that drew Harry's attention back to her.

"Please, no more suffering for good elf," Dobby said, his voice brittle. "Greatest Wizard must work fast, or Maskies be coming back and Dragon-Weasley not get saved."

Harry looked the elf over one last time and silently asked for forgiveness. Then, the Killing Curse bathed the elf in a green light, and as it faded, the pain etched across her face disappeared. Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat and moved to the next cage where a wizard, missing both little fingers, lay in even worse condition.

Shock threatened to overtake Harry, and now he understood what took Dobby so much time; how long had the elf stood in this basement, overwhelmed by what he'd seen? Harry closed his eyes and willed himself to ignore the horror surrounding him.

When he had gained control of himself again, he asked, "Where's the lock?"

Dobby motioned to a central black box on each bank of cells. Two vertical bars ran through the box and connected to levers at each end. Two other bars—one each at the top bottom—stretched across the doors of the entire cell bank.

The lock inside the black box bespoke elegant simplicity. Metal buttons set in both vertical bars acted as a catch against the other set of buttons. Harry reached in and gripped the bars, the tips of every finger lining up with a spring-loaded button.

He froze.

They didn't . . .

He looked into the nearest cage to find a Goblin staring back at him, also missing his pinky fingers.

Elegant simplicity. Bastards.

He pressed and twisted, but the bars refused to move at first. Then, they gave way, and the top and bottom bars slid above and below the door. A slight magical pulse surged through Harry, telling him the protections against magic had released.

"Dobby, be quick and open the doors."

The house-elf moved faster than Harry thought possible, touching a gray metal plate on each cell that caused the door to swing open.

"Come on," Harry said, "we'll get you to safety."

But little movement resulted, and a closer look later, he understood why: ropes bound hands and feet. He held his breath against the stench and freed a middle-aged witch, hefting her over his shoulder and depositing her outside her cage.

"Dobby, can you Apparate right from their cells?"

"Cells still be stopping magic."

Harry furrowed a brow. Then how did he just use a Cutting Curse? A moment's thought didn't present answers, and now wasn't the time for pondering, anyway. "Okay, then I'll get them out and you Disapparate them."

"Dobby can do." He flashed to Harry's side, stretched his hand forward, and Disapparated with the witch.

Harry rushed into the second cage and brought a wizard to the he aisle between the cages and rushed off to help another. He worked through half of the right bank before he came upon a witch whose condition turned his stomach even worse than Winky.

His eyes traced down her half-dressed body. Bruises of various colors testified to the sustained brutality she'd endured. Then he glimpsed the blood between her legs, and lost all his breath as his jaw dropped.

He clamped it shut again and swallowed the anger that boiled within. "Dav. . . Tracey, can you hear me?"

She moaned before opening blood-red eyes. "Potter," she breathed.

His skin prickled. "You're safe, now, we're getting you out."

"So much pain . . ."

"I know." He took another breath, and realized the stench wasn't as bad in this cage. Another glance at the pooled blood told him why.

"Why you?"

"Marcus," was all she could say before a hacking, dry cough threw her body into convulsions. With each one, ropes cut deeper into her wrists and ankles. "Last Christmas, I wouldn't tell them where he was." She coughed again, and Harry could almost feel the ropes tearing at the raw flesh.

"I'm their toy, now. Please, Harry—" Tracey reached for him, but the ropes tore again at the open wound.

He freed both of her hands and took one in his, careful to avoid the stub that used to be her right little finger. "We'll get you somewhere safe, somewhere that you can heal, and . . ." But his voice faded as she shook her head.

"Not me. I'm too broken. But, there are others, younger witches—save them, Harry, please." Her soulless eyes met his, empty but for the pain. "Please, Harry, I'm begging you, set me free."

Blink.

Blink.

Did she just ask . . . ?

His mouth turned to cotton. He struggled to have enough courage to kill Winky, but an innocent witch?

"Please . . ." she begged again, unshed tears glistening.

He shook himself from his stupor. "Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"Then, take a deep breath, relax"—a green curse jumped from his wand, and then with two fingers, he closed her eyes for the last time—"and be free."

Anger roared within, coupled with disbelief, and it grew worse when he looked into the next cage. Ropes bound a tiny brunette to her bed. She'd urinated and defecated on herself and the sheets, mixing with the blood that pooled between her legs. Harry remembered her from school—a second year Hufflepuff that he'd seen in the library while he was studying for the tasks. His arm came up on autopilot, setting her free of this life as well, and denying the Death Eaters any more joy at her expense. Then, he visited five more cages, pulling a witch and two Goblins into the center aisle. Another wizard who'd undergone multiple amputations, and a witch treated like Tracey, he had to kill.

The same horrors awaited Harry in the far bank. And the remnants of Harry's disbelief gave way to his anger, spiraling into a hurricane-force rage that desolated the remnants of his compunction and restraint. But he held it in check as he worked down the row, having to take the life of the wizard caged next to Winky.

A tap on his arm startled him.

"Dobby disappearing wizards being made dead so Maskies not use magic to make them do bad things. Greatest Wizard stay here and keep an eye on door."

Harry nodded, and then watched as the elf Disapparated with two bodies. But somewhere along the elf's third trip, Harry realized that he hadn't seen Charlie.

"He being upstairs," Dobby said when Harry questioned him after he returned. The elf crouched and traced his finger across the floor. A thin trail shimmered on the cement wherever he touched. "Stairs be coming to main floor here"—_here_ was the middle of the house, alongside a hallway—"then go to backest room where Dragon-Weasley being in another cage."

"What else is up there? Any more prisoners?"

"Dobby be checking all rooms, but only Dragon-Weasley there." The elf scrunched nose, his ears tilting forward, and then gave his head a quick shake. "No, nothing else in Dragon-Weasley's room but the cage. The other one be for storing."

"Storing? What would Death Eaters store?"

"Robes, a cabinet, racing brooms, wizardly stuff."

At least it wasn't whips and shackles. He gestured to the remaining few bodies. "Get them out of here" Then he pulled on the invisibility cloak.

"Think you can Apparate me upstairs, first?"

"Dobby be planning that." He reached for Harry's hand.

But Harry stepped back as a stray thought crossed his mind. How many of the wizards he just killed would have survived Apparition? Few, if any; with their internal injuries, the forces compressing their bodies would have killed them. Did they give Charlie the same beatings? And, if so, would he survive Apparition?

The last Weasley was not going to die by Harry's hand. That's for damn sure. Then again, if Death Eaters were willing to offer him transportation . . . "Where are those brooms?"

**~ . ~ . ~**

Harry tiptoed along the threadbare carpet, his nose wrinkled against the smell of mildew that permeated the air, but at least it was better than the sewer downstairs. Dobby could have Apparated him into the last room, but Elf-Apparition with a human riding alongside caused a slight pop. If a Death Eater were with Charlie, it might get interesting in a hurry. So, instead, they popped into a broom closet that lacked a door. Harry figured Dobby had been there before since blankets, judiciously placed for such a purpose, muffled the slight noise from their appearance.

Voices of Death Eaters floated through the hall from the dining room, as did the smell of food, which explained why no one came to check on the guard downstairs. He shook his head at their sloppiness and then contemplated sneaking across the house and killing them all as they ate.

"You're a child of Darkness now," the Horcrux agreed. "Go and reap their deaths. Feed on their fear."

Harry reversed himself, then stopped: if a battle followed, and he hadn't yet saved Charlie—no, rescue Charlie first, and then satiate the bloodlust.

"We're growing wise," the second, darker voice answered. "Let us use what we've learned. Those Death Eaters are lazy and sloppy, which makes them easy targets. Let us wait until they go home, then we'll cut their throats out while they sleep and dance in their blood: no sparing the family, they shall reap the sins of their husbands and fathers."

A feral grin appeared as Harry made his way to the shabby bedroom.

Yellowed, peeling walls and stained curtains covering the boarded window met him. A cage against the wall held Charlie, tied to his bed under more blood-stained sheets.

Harry pushed the door to and dropped his cloak. "Charlie?"

Charlie faced the doorway, and Harry sighed in relief. The eyes staring at him held life, even if he too was missing both pinky fingers.

"Harry?"

"Shh! I've come to get you." Without another word, he slipped his hands inside the box, set his fingertips on the buttons, and released the lock, welcoming the slight surge of magic that shuddered through him when the protections fell.

And then it all went downhill.

"There!" said a dining room voice. "I felt it again. I'm telling you it's the cage wards!"

"Bloody hell! Check it yourself if you're so paranoid, instead of sending one of us!" came another.

"I will, and if I'm right, at least I'll be able to tell the Dark Lord that I did something." Silence followed, then too many chairs scratched across the floor.

Damn it! They were coming, and the ropes still bound Charlie. Harry worked fast, freeing his arms with two Cutting Spells. Then he moved to the chains around Charlie's legs.

At the other end of the hall, footsteps announced coming Death Eaters. "You check downstairs, Takijiri and I will check the blood traitor."

The chains resisted the Cutting Spells, so Harry switched to Banishing Charms, but they weren't working, either.

The door opened, and Harry spun and caught the Death Eater by surprise; his wrath aided a quick slash and twist of his wand that sent a wicked Melting Curse straight into the wizard's stomach. A pained scream rang through the house.

And at the same time, Death Eaters descended the basement stairs and gazed at empty cages. Warning cries buried the wizard's dying screams.

For the Death Eater named Takijiri, however, the surprise of watching another man melt in front of him froze him for a moment too long. Harry's second spell drilled him in the stomach, decorating the hallway behind him with flesh and organs. He fell to the floor in two pieces.

"Dobby!" Harry cried out, his wand still trained on the door. The elf popped into the room. "Get Charlie free, I'll make sure no one gets back here."

He hadn't even refocused on the door before hearing, "Dragon-Weasley being free."

"How did . . . ? Never mind, I need the brooms." A spell leaped from his wand and slammed the door shut, then another sealed it. That'd give them enough time, he hoped.

Harry helped Charlie from his bed, and noticed he looked as though someone had taken a beater bat to him. "I hope you're strong enough to fly."

Charlie snorted. "I'll crawl if I have to. I'm sick of this place."

They heard more footsteps thumping down the hall toward the bedroom.

Dobby popped back and handed Harry the brooms, his left ear twitching.

"Apparition might kill him," he answered the unasked question. Dobby nodded. And Death Eaters crashed against the door.

But Harry's charm held. Dobby passed Charlie's wand to him. "It be in broom locker."

Another crash, the door split.

"It's time to go," Harry said.

"Dobby be gone after making brooms fastest." He waved his hand in an intricate pattern and then a quiet sound, almost like anti-Apparition wards, ripped along both of them. A second wave and the broom glowed for a moment. "Speed Governor and Tracking Charms be gone—" his ears popped straight up "—Maskies coming through wall! Gots to leave! Now!"

No sooner had he finished speaking when Blasting Spells pulverized a third of the wall between them and the hallway. Dobby threw both hands sideways towards the breach and the airborne debris reversed course, ripping back through the hole and crashing into Wizards on the other side.

Then Harry spun and shot his own Blasting Spell at the window before waving to Charlie. "Go! I'll be right behind you."

Already on his broom, Charlie kicked off and leaned forward, lancing through the open window frame in a blur. Drapes flagged in the swirls of dust left in his wake.

On the other side of the wall, the Death Eaters gained their feet, but with another wave of Dobby's hands, a translucent purple barrier flashed into existence, filling the entire hole. Two Killing Curses crashed against it, causing cracks to spider-web outwards.

Harry gave them one last look through Dobby's spell, and his feral smile returned. "I'll be seeing you soon," he promised." Then he mounted his broom and shot through the broken window behind Charlie at the same time that Dobby Disapparated.

Town lights faded, swallowed in forested darkness below and lighted pinprick skies above. Two miles farther, Harry twisted his broom around in a tight circle and stopped, facing Charlie—and Dobby.

"Damn elf Apparated straight onto the broom," Charlie said. "Not that I don't appreciate what he did for me tonight, but talk about scaring the Goblins out of someone!"

"I bet. Dobby, we need to get him somewhere safe. Can we take him to Hogwarts?"

"There being too many eyes still watching. Dobby take Dragon-Weasley to safe place with others, like Dobby promised Greatest Wizard. And Dobby be sorry for scaring Dragon-Weasley. Scary Dobby only for Maskies."

Harry nodded, and was about to ask where Dobby would take him when Charlie interrupted.

"Behind you, they're coming, about a mile away." He pointed back towards Hogsmeade, but the night sky made it difficult to see anything.

After a few seconds, however, Harry noticed stars blinking out. "Dobby, let Charlie have the front of the broom and take him to wherever the others are, I'm going to run interference. Keep the both of you safe, understand?"

The elf vanished and reappeared behind Charlie, sitting backwards and wielding a wand half his length. "Dragon Weasley fly to London. Scary Dobby be protecting all the way."

"Good. Charlie, follow me into the forest. We'll break off under the cover of the trees so they don't know you're gone." Harry glanced up again to see how much distance the Death Eaters had covered, then turned and leisurely flew toward Hogwarts, counting down from five.

"Now!" he commanded after hitting zero, and both wizards tipped the brooms over and dove into the forest. Charlie broke off to his left and headed south, slaloming through trees as fast as he dared. But Harry pushed his broom to the right, coming all the way around until he faced the Death Eaters again. But before he broke out of trees, he stopped and threw his invisibility cloak over himself, made sure it covered the broom, and then raced into the night sky toward his enemies.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Fleur hid the string in her pocket and looked around. She and Gabrielle stood amid a dirty back alley in London, she thought. Gabrielle raised an eyebrow.

"Your friend gave us the Portkey," Fleur answered the gesture. "See anything you recognize?"

"I've never been here in my life, how would I . . ." Gabrielle blinked. "Oh." She stepped forward twice and laid her hand against a door, then whispered a password. On the ground to the left, a stone glowed, and she traced a crude ruin set on its face.

The stone turned black, and then a faint light eeked out over box, crawled across the door, and faded. A _click_ followed and Gabrielle turned the handle. "After you."

"Where are we?"

"Mr. Ollivander's shop, I believe. Look, there's some leftover wand-wood."

Fleur cast a spell that lit the candles floating next to the walls, and sure enough, various sizes of damaged wood filled the room. Some were cracked; some knotted and gnarled; and others, discarded mistakes. Stacks upon stacks of boxes lined the floor and narrow staircase along the far wall.

The door shut on its own and Fleur jumped, her wand out and a curse on her lips. She sighed and shook her head. "Makes sure it's locked," she said to Gabrielle, "and pass me your notes on changing the wards. We might as well make ourselves at home."

Twelve hours later, Fleur finished the last of her tasks before wandering back toward the building's heart. It doubled as a workshop and, beyond a bookcase pair, a small bedroom, living area, and bathroom.

Mr. Ollivander kept his workshop stocked in raw wand material, sealed behind charms Gabrielle had earlier removed—a small rental payment he required a day per month.

In the small living area, dozens of books sat on the right set of shelves with titles such as, _The Controversy over Wand Coring verses Shaping, _or _The Ten Deadliest Wood and Core Combinations ever Attempted. _Others titles identified basic wandcraft books: _Wand-Working and You, Repairing a Broken Wand, _or _The_ _Proper Treatment of Cores. _Food covered by Keep Fresh Charms lined the other shelf, though thriving green life evidenced the charm's failure.

She spotted a mattress atop a metal frame in the corner with clean, inviting sheets, and beyond it, a door to the bathroom. Seven hours learning local wards and three more resetting them left her exhausted.

Gabrielle walked through the parted shelves, dust hiding her cheeks.

"Finished upstairs?" she asked.

"How can one man have so much junk!" Gabrielle tried to brush the dust her blouse and jeans, but gave it up for a loss and stripped, tossing the clothes into the corner under the empty plates. She wiggled into her sleepy-shirt, then sat next to Fleur. "I feel sorry for anyone who tries to sneak in that way; they'd trip and break their neck."

Fleur wiped more dust from Gabrielle's cheeks. "Glad to hear it. We need sleep; our day'll start early tomorrow, before the Alley gets busy."

"Why? What are we doing?"

"There's an ice-cream shop across the street that I remember a couple of 'Arry's friends talking about. If a certain witch still works there, she might help."

"Witch?" Gabrielle repeated. "You weren't meaning a female who uses magic, where you?"

Fleur sighed. "Supposedly, she wanted some . . . _alone time_ with 'Arry. Part of me hopes she's seen him, part of me hopes she hasn't."

Gabrielle shifted on the bed. "'Arry wouldn't cheat on you, not after all you've been through."

Fleur gave her a sad smile. "You're forgetting, he thinks I'm dead. Imagine you're casting his spell, fighting a war without hope. What would you do if a lovely witch paid you attention?"

"Run."

"You know what I mean. It'd crush me if I found out, but . . ." A lump formed in her throat. "I couldn't blame him under the circumstances; it's not cheating, not from his perspective." Fleur stood and stripped her shirt, thinking about what she'd just said, and how much she'd grown up in the last year.

"Wait a second; wouldn't the mark let you know?" Gabrielle asked.

Fleur tossed the shirt next to Gabrielle's blouse. "Marks don't work that way."

"But, I thought it linked you?"

"You've been reading Danielle's trashy Veela romance novels, haven't you?"

"No!" Gabrielle answered, then amended herself, "Maybe a few."

Fleur undid her jeans and stepped out of them. "Those stupid books morph marks into soul-bonds, but they're nothing more than Veela spells that may fade without me ever knowing."

"So that's why you were jealous of his Veela-chicks?"

"Yeah, pretty foolish in hindsight, wasn't it?" She kicked the jeans on top of the growing pile and pulled out a clean, knee-length t-shirt from travel bag.

"Wait, now I'm confused," Gabrielle admitted. "How did the mark grow stronger, then? And why would Veela remove it if it just died out?"

"A mark feeds on emotions." She situated her shirt, waved her sister off the bed, and climbed in. "The more he loves me, the stronger it grows. But, if he stops, the mark fades away."

"How long does it take?"

"A year, maybe two. And Veela remove marks because men stay marked if they still have feelings for a Veela, even twenty years later."

Fleur held the covers open and Gabrielle climbed in, nestling against her. "That's why the Zekānōt grew angry. Without his permission, I slapped a label on him that screamed, 'Mine—hands off!' to every Veela that he may meet. And something I've learned of late, the Zekānōt does not appreciate Veela limiting the choices of others."

"At least it worked out well. Speaking of which, do you know what my favorite part about last Christmas was," Gabrielle asked.

"Winning all that money betting on us and then torturing 'Arry by taking advantage of Locum in front of him?"

Fleur heard a little huff.

"Yeah, besides that."

"Seeing him naked?"

Gabrielle rolled over to face her. "I'm trying to have another bonding moment with you, if you don't mind!"

Fleur laughed, then reached up and brushed a hair out of Gabby's face. "Alright, I'll be good. No, I don't, what was your favorite moment?"

"The next morning, when you two jinxed us all."

Fleur scrunched her eyebrows together. "Really? _That's _your favorite moment?"

Gabrielle nodded. "Watching the two of you casting spells was amazing, and both of you hit me two or three times with Tickling Jinxes."

"That made you happy?"

"It meant I was the little sister you both loved, and that I wouldn't lose you to some jag-off."

Fleur coughed. "Jag-off? What, in the name of . . ."

"It's an Americanism Locum used—from somewhere called Pittsburgh. He bragged over a stupid team from there, named after some rock or mineral." She shrugged. "Anyway, that's my favorite memory, though the Ferris wheel was fun, too."

"I'm sure it was."

Gabrielle giggled, then rolled back over and pulled the sheets up under her chin. "Thanks for letting me come with you."

"I'm still afraid of something happening to you, but, I'm glad you're here too."

A few minutes later, Gabrielle fell asleep. Next to her, Fleur mulled over the possibilities of Harry and the witch. But the hard work learning and resetting ward left her too exhausted to think for too long, and she drifted to sleep.

**X ~ X ~ X ~X**

The Death Eaters headed west and skirted both the school grounds and the forbidden forest that laid to the North, as if the wards were still erected. Harry pushed his broom beyond them and then, with a wide sweep, he lined himself up for a back right to front left overtake.

And then he dove, but without the Speed Governing Charm, the wind threatened to tear him straight off the broom. A quick Sticking Charm fixed the problem, and freed his other hand as well. With it, he took up the extra material of his invisibility cloak, leaving only a small opening for his wand.

And just in time. He overtook the Death Eaters, and then the sky blossomed with green light as one, two, then three Killing Curses darted forward as he shot passed them, the leftover gloaming of the curses still bright.

Something he caught in the corner of his eye kicked against his instincts and he broke hard right. Four curses streaked by him, followed by four more.

He pushed his broom over and dropped toward the forest. "How are they seeing me?" he asked the night air. An answer, he did not expect.

So his heart skipped a beat when he heard a voice do just that. "I'm helping them."

Harry spun the broom on its axis and let loose a barrage of the nastiest spells he knew at the Voice. Then, he banked hard left and pushed over into a vertical dive, thanking whatever deity responsible for Sticking Charms. Otherwise, seeing Voldemort flying thirty feet above him without a broom would have been Harry's last earthly sight.

He plunged through another three hundred feet, then pulled level in the middle of the forest. His heart raced, and he struggled to breathe, which wasn't a good combination as he dodged trees and limbs. Dammit! How did he allow Voldemort to sneak up on him? If it wasn't for his boast . . . wait, why didn't Voldemort curse him when he had the chance?

But he knew the answer as soon as he asked: pride, authority, arrogance; after everything Harry had done, Voldemort needed to prove to his Death Eaters that he was still in control, that he could toy with the boy calling himself Death; and with the boy who _dared _send a message through one of Voldemort's own Death Eaters taunting the supposed Dark—

_Smack!_

For a second time in as many minutes, Harry thanked whatever deity was responsible for him casting the Sticking Charm. His forehead snapped a tree limb, and the world grew fuzzy. Pain ripped along the heal-lines of his incident with the mountain last fall. He slowed down and push even lower, skimming atop the underbrush and hoping the forest canopy would veil him from spying eyes above—specifically, those scarlet eyes of Voldemort.

"_Hiding in the trees? I thought having a piece of my soul in you would make you brave._"

The unspoken words resounded through his head, adding to the pain. Voldemort had learned of the Horcrux and its link into Harry's mind.

After the last few weeks, showing fear before Voldemort was unacceptable. Better to bluster, and then cack his trousers when he was alone. "_So, you know."_

"_Yessss. It _is _part of my soul, after all.__"_

There! A Death Eater came into Harry's vision about a hundred yards ahead and about half of that above the treetops.

"_Maybe, but it's my head, so get the hell out!_" Harry shot through the evergreens and into the night, his wand twisting as he shouted a curse. Venom laced each word.

"_Expasses Sangium_!"

The body exploded. He dove again to forested cover, whipping among trees to clear the area.

"_A blood exploder? Impressive, little Harry Potter. So, the rumors are true. Welcome to the Dark Art's embrace."_ His mocking tone rang through the Horcrux link.

And it stoked Harry's rage. "_Harry Potter is dead._"

"_Not yet,_" Voldemort answered. "_But I'm working on it._"

"_Oh, no, he's very much dead._"

A quick pause, then Voldemort decided to play along. "_Amuse me, why is he dead, and how did he die?_"

Another broom appeared above Harry, moving a little faster from his left to right. He raised his wand again. "_Because I killed him, you stupid son of a bitch_!"

"_Avada Kedavra!" _

The body bounced off a tree trunk twenty yards ahead of him. He landed, and with a few waves of his wand, Harry dressed himself in the wizard's mask and black robes. After another Sticking Charm, he pushed off the ground.

No sooner had he finished than the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Voldemort was close, too close. So Harry mounted his broom and shot through the forest. His head pounded, his stomach was queasy, and Voldemort's excitement of the hunt and his disappointment losing Harry that came through the link, wasn't helping.

"_Such dark spells, Harry. What would you mother say, after giving her life to protect you? Such a foolish girl. But you, Harry, you're not so foolish, are you? You've seen the power of the Dark Arts. Are you sure we're enemies anymore? Perhaps you belong at my right hand, instead of standing against me." _

In the Graveyard, Voldemort's taunts were piss-your-pants terrifying. But now, his barely controlled hurricane blotted out his fear. "_If I'm ever at your right hand, I'll rip out your throat!" _And he meant it: no more fear, no more terror, and that should've frightened him more than anything else, but he also no longer cared.

The hair on his neck again signaled danger. He cut hard left, darted passed rock outcroppings, then back right, and found himself behind the last two Death Eaters as they edged over the lake. Then he eased himself level and followed as they turned to sweep back over the forest.

The floating specter of Voldemort rose into the sky before them. Through the Horcrux, Harry felt his confusion, his frustration, and then his anger as Voldemort glared at the three black-robed Death Eaters approaching.

Confusion! Voldemort couldn't see through the invisibility cloak, which meant he was tracking Harry by the Horcrux, rather than sight! The feral grin returned as Harry and the two Death Eaters ate the distance between them and his greatest enemy.

A second and a half later, two more curses killed one Death Eater and froze the other—and his broom—in midair.

_Leave a witness,_ Grandma Guillory had said. She'd be proud of him tonight.

Another quick wave of his wand removed the black robe and mask, and Harry became invisible thanks to his invisibility cloak. He shot down and to the left as Voldemort's curses chased him, but they were too inaccurate since he was trying to track Harry through the link.

Harry returned a Black Plague Curse, but Voldemort sensed the attack and rolled right, hovering in air, and then returned another series of curses, each darker than the last.

Left, right, left, Harry dodged. And then—and never could he explain why he did this—he drove his broom straight into Voldemort, caught him by the robe, and pinned his wand arm between their chests. Then he leaned back and pulled the broom vertical.

"Galling child, how dare you . . ."

The wind tore the invisibility cloak from Harry's head. Voldemort fell into stunned silence over the changes a single year had wrought.

And Harry knew it was the only chance he'd get, so he dug deep into his memory and pulled from it the spell he'd read about in _Gebringang-pinere_: "_Ellorgást Pínunge._"

He dropped through the Horcrux and into Voldemort's mind, bypassing all the layers of Occlumency Voldemort had in place, and he tore at every mental hold he could grab. Then, the Horcrux somehow linked with the rest of Voldemort's soul and then a rush of visions, thoughts, and soul-crushing evil that he'd wrought over a lifetime passed through Harry's consciousness.

"NO!" Voldemort ejected Harry from his mind with such force that blood leaked from Harry's nose and ears.

Then, the moon disappeared and a moment later, Voldemort did as well, though Harry could still feel him and his wand arm, trapped between their bodies. He tried to breathe, but the biting, chilled air burned his lungs.

With no other choices, he decided to probe again through the link, but Voldemort had blacked out.

And Harry wasn't far behind as he fought to stay awake, frightened that he'd lost his vision. The wind threatened to rip him from his broom as the broom handle tipped in a parabolic arc.

Voldemort groaned, and Harry could feel him regaining consciousness through the link.

They raced through the apex, then gravity reclaimed his broom. Harry's eyes cleared, and to his left and right, in the distance, the moon reflected off the North Sea. In front of Harry, a distant a white glow lit the sky: lights of Blackpool, Manchester, Liverpool, and Leeds. Those damn lights had kept him up many nights his first few months here, but those cities were over a hundred miles to the south, weren't they? Just how high had they flown?* High enough that they'd never survive a crash; that, Harry knew for sure.

And then a plan formed.

A still groggy Voldemort moaned, drawing Harry's attention to him, and to an arm no longer pinned between them. He snatched riddle's wand and released it into eager winds. And then he wrapped his arms around the wizard and urged the broom to cooperate with gravity. They shot through the night, wind whistling in Harry's ears as they plunged back to earth.

Voldemort's eyes opened. "Potter! Release me!" he commanded.

The Legilimency-strengthened command compelled obedience, but Harry chose against it, and instead, spoke through the Horcrux. "Tonight, Tommy, we die together."

A rush of anger hit him back through the link, but he also caught Voldemort's probing brush against his mind. And then came the proudest moment of his life to that point: Voldemort pulled back from the Horcrux and gawked at him in dread.

Without a wand, and still struggling with the affects of their flight, Voldemort was too weak to break Harry's hold. And he knew it.

Riddle's panic and magic surged, spinning up and blasting Harry. But Harry fended off or countered every attack through the Horcrux—magic on magic, the intimacy of their current battle redefining the night their wands locked to a first kiss. And then, realization: the Horcrux, when it had linked, filled in the last fifteen years of Voldemort's journey and knowledge of magic, including that which he lacked for spell casting.

Harry was now coequal with the Darkest Wizard in a century.

"NEVER!" Voldemort seethed as Harry's realization trickled across the Horcrux. Desperation set in, and he kicked, kneed, and punched against Harry's hold, as they hurtled onward. Pine trees and dark waves filled their horizon.

Harry's end was coming, ten, maybe fifteen heartbeats before sweet oblivion. And Voldemort couldn't Disapparate with an unwilling partner, not one so powerful countering his will. There was no escaping.

Open your doors, Valhalla!

But then, a knee caught his thigh, an elbow, his jaw. Harry's arms slackened of their own accord, and Voldemort broke Harry's hold. He separated, twisted, and vanished.

A frustrated scream exploded from Harry's lungs. Three seconds and a thousand feet farther, they would have pasted the forest floor. With a mighty pull, he heaved the broom handle, and the forest and lake grayed. Then, the edges of his vision disappeared as he continued out of the dive, until he saw only a knut-sized distant window of trees.

But as soon as he pulled level, his vision reversed itself. What the hell? He kept the broom straight, not chancing another episode. But, as he eased his broom around, he noticed a Death Eater still hovering over the forest.

His witness.

Harry took aim from a quarter-mile and reversed the spell. Then, the Death Eater took one look at him, turned his broom, and exited the area as fast as possible in the opposite direction.

**X ~ X ~ X ~X**

The sun's bright reflection crawled across the back wall of Ollivander's wand shop until it reached the open doorway, basking the makeshift bedroom in light. Fleur covered her face with the pillow, then became confused when she felt something bounce off the mattress beside her.

"Ugh!" Gabrielle opened her eyes and glared at Fleur while rubbing the back of her head. "I was using that," she said, and then she yanked the pillow from her and snuggled into it.

"Sorry," Fleur said. "Any idea what time is?"

"It's time for the gorgeous Veela princess to go back to sleep while her sister makes me breakfast."

"Not likely." Fleur checked the clock that hung on the back wall. "Ten-thirty? Come on, Gabby, we slept in way too late."

The concrete floor was cool to the touch, but Fleur didn't mind it as she crossed the room. She also didn't mind the faint scent of the different woods that hung in the air. It was pleasant, and unlike the smell of certain flowers, it didn't cause her mouth to water, either.

She stripped and used a Cleaning Charm on herself, then dug through her clothes for jeans and a shirt. Sometimes, Veela heritage was annoying, like the morning she snuck into the garden and feasted on flower petals. Even more annoying (and embarrassing) they tasted good!

And speaking of annoying and embarrassing . . . "Gabby! Come on!"

"Go ahead," her sister answered. "I'll search my bed for 'Arry for, oh, the next couple of hours or so."

Fleur crossed her arms. "And just how often have you hoped to find him in your bed, _Veille__́__e_ Princess?"

She dodged right to avoid the pillow, then caught the rebound off the shelves. "I'll keep this, too. It'll make your search easier if it's not on the bed."

Gabrielle let out a long sigh. "No way I'm getting it back, am I?"

"Nope."

"I didn't think that out so well."

Half an hour later, they left through the back entrance, walked behind a row of stores, and then went through a small break between their row and the next one out onto Diagon Alley. The bright sun beat on Muggle baseball caps pulled low over their eyes, and under which they tucked their hair. Baggy clothes hid delicious curves that screamed _Veela!_

Fleur had pondered more dramatic changes, but decided against it. Veela magic overcame most spells used for disguise, and Polyjuice seldom worked over an hour. And since no one was looking for them, so a long as they didn't draw attention to themselves, two witches in Diagon alley shouldn't be that big of a deal.

At least she hoped that was true.

The Alley wasn't busy, but several wizards and witches still went about their day. Fleur and Gabrielle walked among them, passing Gringotts, the entrance to Knockturn Alley, and to her right, a store with its destroyed façade. As it turned out, Fortescue's Ice cream parlour was next to the chocolate store. They walked in, chose a table against the back wall, and sat; facing the front door with Gabrielle to Fleur's left. A moment later, Fleur realized they were the only customers and nodded to the empty tables. "I hope it's not a commentary on the food."

"I hope so, too." Another voice answered. "Can I help you?"

The witch standing before her had midnight hair that framed a heart-shaped face with cupid-bow lips and soft, blue eyes. She wasn't wearing a nametag. "I take it you're not Fortescue."

The blue eyes hardened. "Nope, I'm his ugly stepdaughter. So, are you here for a Sundae, or would you like to see a lunch menu?"

"I hoped you had lunch, I'm starved," Gabrielle answered, staring at the flavors of ice cream on the wall to the side of the register, and unaware of the witch's sudden unease.

"The same for you?" the waitress asked Fleur.

"Please."

She disappeared behind the counter and brought back two menus that advertised the midday meal between eleven-thirty and one, dropping them on the table. "It's still a bit early for lunch, and Mr. Fortescue isn't here yet—he does the cooking—but he'll show up soon enough. You can talk to him then."

"That's alright, there's no need." Fleur reached for a menu, but the waitress slapped a hand down, stopping her.

"What do you want?" the witch asked.

"I'm not sure, I need to look at the menu first, don't I?"

The witch's eyes narrowed. "No, you don't."

"Oh?" Fleur's other hand inched toward her wand.

"I'll tell you what we have: two witches whose accents indicate you're not from around here entering an ice cream shop hoping for lunch—something only locals know we serve, since we don't advertise it—and then ask about Mr. Fortescue. Then, when I say he'll be here in a little bit, you're not interested." The witch's other hand slid a few inches toward the hem of her shirt. "On top of that, out of all the tables here, you take the one that gives you the best sight of both the door outside, and the kitchen.

"So again, what do you want?"

Gabrielle looked back at Fleur. "Just ask, already, I'm 'ungry, and after lunch I want to try the Banana-butter and Chocolate Sundae, too."

An annoyed growl escaped Fleur's lips, but it was for show. Gabby had her wand out and trained on the witch under the table, and Fleur was impressed.

"Fine!" she answered. She glared at the waitress. "Are you the witch from Slytherin that helped all those children escape from Hogwarts the night that—"

A slender but wicked looking wand appeared, pointed between at the bridge of her nose. The waitress glanced at Gabrielle. "A word of advice, if you're going to curse me from under the table, you better make it good since you're getting one go." Then, she turned back to Fleur. "Now, what if I was?"

Gabrielle rested her hand on the table, her wand still trained on the waitress.

"Then we're on the same side," Fleur said.

"And why should I believe that?"

Despite the wand in her face, Fleur rolled her eyes. "We're part Veela. Veela and the Dark Arts don't mix, or didn't they teach you that at Hogwarts?"

"They didn't," the waitress said. "But that doesn't mean I don't read. And you saying you're Veela doesn't make it—"

Fleur shot from her chair, transforming as she drove the witch's body to the floor while at the same time, Gabrielle came up out of her chair in full-feather and hit the waitress with a Disarming Spell.

Still perched on the waitress's chest, Fleur shifted back to her normal self. "That's how." She stepped off and took her seat again, not bothering to put her hair back up under her ball cap. "And we're here because we're looking for someone: long black hair, green eyes, and a scar above his eye."

The waitress's jaw locked, and then she pushed herself up to her feet and spoke through clenched teeth. "Listen, bint, I don't care who you say you are, I'm not telling you a damn thing about Harry Potter."

Fleur's heart stopped in her chest at the sound of that name, then it started pumping double-time when she remembered her conversation about this witch and Harry. "You've seen him?"

"What didn't you understand about—damn, the accent, you're French, aren't you?"

"And?"

The waitress's eyes widened. "You were the Beauxbatons . . ."

Fleur nodded.

". . . But, he said that you died—" And now, the widened eyes lit with anger and quicker than a curse, she cracked Gabrielle across the jaw with a solid right fist that sent her sprawling across the floor. Then she dove for her wand and spun around to face Fleur.

But instead, she found herself staring at the pointed end of Fleur's wand. "If you touch my sister again, there won't be enough pieces of your body left for your family to mourn over. And, no, I'm very much alive. 'Arry thinks I'm dead because of a Healer's mistake."

The waitress glared at her, then pursed her lips. "Fine, if you're who you say you are, then I'm sure you can tell me what the scar on the left side of his chest looks like?"

A fist of ice gripped Fleur's heart. Why would this little English whore know about a scar on—wait, what scar? "You're lying. Unless it's new, he doesn't have one there."

The witch glanced at Gabrielle, back and Fleur, and then took long, deep breath and let it out. Her shoulders slumped as though a load of bricks just fell off. "Alright, I believe you, and not just because you're right about the scar." A hint of a smirk appeared. "It's pretty hard to feign the type of jealousy I saw flash in your eyes."

Then she took a longer look at Gabrielle, who was still lying on the floor a few feet away. "I'll be right back," she said, and disappeared into the back.

Fleur turned her attention to Gabrielle. "Can you sit up?"

"I think so; I wonder if I can get her to teach me how to punch like that."

"Pfft, she's no bigger than pixie. It couldn't have hurt that much," Fleur teased.

"You wanna give it a try?" Gabrielle asked.

"I'll pass."

"Then shut up."

Fleur laughed under her breath, thankful that at least her little sister's first lesson in the world of war was minor by comparison to what hers had been.

The waitress reappeared and set a tray of food on the table. "Mr. Fortescue still isn't here, so we'll go with a free lunch of cold meats, bread, and spreads, along with what was left of yesterday's vegetables. And, as for you—" she turned to Gabrielle, her wand in her left hand, and took Gabby's chin in her right.

A quick sense of panic overtook Fleur, but she could somewhat sense the witch's emotions, and whatever she was about to do, it was out of a sense of sorrow mixed with embarrassment.

"I'm going to cast a Healing Spell on you in case anything's cracked or broken. Of course, if your physiology is different . . ." She looked at Fleur.

"We use all the same spells, she'll be fine."

"Good." The waitress cast spells on Gabrielle's nose, mouth, and chin, then handed over a piece of raw meat, covered with a charm that stopped the juices from dripping. "It'll help the swelling, trust me. It'll also make you more attractive to dogs, werewolves, and probably a few wizards as well, at least until you take a shower. Though, I doubt the latter's a problem for you. By the way, my name is Jaycinda."

Fleur introduced herself and Gabrielle, they ate and talked about Harry, his Pottermark and all that happened to him, and about bodies of Death Eaters hanging about the Alley. It gave Fleur hope that she'd be able to contact him, that is, if she and Gabby didn't sleep in half the morning.

Sometime later, the kitchen door opened, catching all three of them by surprise. "Jaycinda?" A man's voice called.

"Mr. Fortescue! What—" she checked the time. "Why are you so late? Is everything okay?"

Mr. Fortescue glanced at Fleur and Gabrielle. "I'm fine. Is that one of my steaks that young witch has attached to her face?" But before anyone could answer, he raised a hand. "On second thought, I don't want to know. Just make sure you clean everything up before the paying customers arrive."

He disappeared into the kitchen.

"Paying customers?"

"He approves of the free lunches."

"Do you do this often?" Fleur asked.

"For certain people," she answered. Then, even though they were still the only ones in the restaurant besides Mr. Fortescue, she lowered her voice. "There are many ways to support a war effort. This one is ours."

Fleur got the point, and the underlying warning that Mr. Fortescue didn't want to advertise his under-the-spell opposition to Voldemort, especially to his paying customers, some of whom wouldn't agree with his stand. "I guess we should be leaving, then."

Jaycinda nodded. "That's probably a good idea, it's getting late, and the usual lunch rush should be coming soon. But before you go, didn't you have a question you wanted to ask?"

Fleur took a deep breath. Could she? In her head, she couldn't blame Harry if he found a little comfort in the arms of this witch, though good luck trying to explain that to her heart.

"I'm not sure I want to. I mean, he thinks I'm dead, so . . . I have no right to expect—"

Jaycinda laid a hand on her arm and smiled. "Listen, I teased him a little, he was too cute not to, but I have a boyfriend with whom I'm completely in love. But, even if I wasn't, he had no interest in me whatsoever."

The fist of ice that had still had a grip on her heart began to melt.

"But, when you find him," Jaycinda continued, "make sure you tell him that I'm going curse him something fierce for his little stunt on my porch."

"I'll tell him, but it won't matter."

"Oh?" Jaycinda asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why's that?"

Gabrielle snorted. "There's a line of Veela queuing from here to France to curse some sense into him. And, at least one of them can throw fire."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

_Chaos_.

Maybe, just maybe, the name wasn't so bad. At least described his life at the moment. Hell, after the last twelve hours, he almost felt bad for Voldemort and his Death Eaters. How much chaos had he caused them?

_Almost_.

Those bastards deserved everything they got.

But now he understood what it felt like, and he had to admit, life wasn't fun being the receiving end of distraction, disruption, and destruction, to complete the rhyming alliteration.

God, Su would have loved that one.

He missed their silly games, lying on dirty mattresses in run-down safe houses. She'd cheat, distracting him with a seductive wink or drawing her fingers down his chest, then laugh when he mangled his attempt at alliteration.

But every so often, he'd cast a perfect spell. _Luscious, lithe little Li looks lovely _earned him a night of tongue-tied bliss.

There just weren't enough nights with her—nights hearing her laughter, nights kissing, and the ones he cared about the most, the nights watching her sleep, curled up against his chest. It made today's reunion bittersweet, and the Harry-caused aftertaste of chaos even worse.

Not that Neville disapproved, quite the opposite. And it wasn't even Harry's fault. Dobby was the one who dropped two-dozen wizards, witches, goblins, and elves into Madame Bones's sitting room. It scared her so bad that she activated her Panic Charm and Portkey combination pendant, and half the Order descended on her home early this morning.

The pendant was a gift from her niece, Susan, after Harry had proven how easy it was to abduct her. On second thought, maybe it was all Harry's fault.

A small grin appeared for a second before it fell away. He just didn't have the inner strength to keep it there any longer.

The wards encompassing Madame Bones's house chimed, announcing an Apparition into the property. Neville went to check out the newcomer.

In the courtyard of the Bones's Mansion stood an average looking wizard with brown hair and a ratty beard. "What's this about? Shacklebolt told me to come immediately after my shift."

Neville had no idea who the person was, but, he knew that voice. "Forget to change something?"

"What? Oh, sorry, Nev." Tonks shifted back into her normal form, the wizard's clothes draping from her. Since Charlie's capture, she drove herself spare looking for him, skipping meals and sleep for two or three days on end, but for a nap here or nibble there. "What's going on?"

"Come, see for yourself."

Tonks raised an eyebrow. Neville led her through the foyer toward the main sitting room.

"It sounds like a family reunion in there."

Neville turned back to her, a genuine smile showing itself for the second time that day. He hadn't managed that since Su had died. "Exactly."

Tonks eyebrows pulled together in confusion before widening in disbelief, only to widen again. "Is that . . . You got him!" And before he could tell her that he had nothing to do with it, she hugged smacked a kiss on his lips. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Then, Tonks raced to Charlie, wrapping her arms around him, or, that was her intent. But Tonks being Tonks, she tripped crossing the room and plastered herself against the floor.

Charlie, lying on a cot, held his broken ribs and laughed until she crawled into his cot and bathed him in kisses and tears. He told his story, and then had to reassure her two or three times that he was okay, except for his two missing fingers.

Neville approached once he decided it was safe. "Did you tell her who rescued you?"

"Not yet."

Tonks laid another kiss on Charlie's cheek before looking up at him. "Wait, you didn't" —she looked around the room— "Who are the rest of these people, and if you didn't save him, then—Harry?"

Charlie nodded, and recounted the tale, right down to Dobby Apparating onto his broom.

". . . You should have seen him," he ended an hour later. "Merlin's sweet arse! What he saw and did last night, I think it broke him."

A tingle of unease snaked its way down Neville's spine. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever restraints he held are gone. And that elf . . . we need to find rock and hide."

"Why's that?" Tonks asked.

Charlie took her hands in his. "It's about to rain blood."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

The sudden appearance of two bodies and the resulting pop that echoed back off the walls shook the wizard and his wife, lounging on their couch. The wizard should have gone for his wand, but the sight of a sixteen-year-old madman and a house-elf dripping someone else's blood and flesh onto the carpet demanded his attention.

"Hello, Death Eater."

That was all he managed before his raged exploded. Harry approached and with one hand, picked the wizard off the couch and threw him across the room. A flick of his wand disarmed the wizard, and then he closed the distance between them, stopping along the way to pick up a heavy iron poker from the fireplace. His fingers tingled with the newfound power that coursed through his veins, fed by the fear of those he was killing.

A primeval scream erupted from his throat and he unloaded, bringing the poker down and burying it two inches into the wizard's side.

The wizard howled in pain and curled up, face first to the floor.

Harry wrenched the poker away, then brought his boot crashing against the Death Eater's head, snapping him against the wall. He held an arm up to fend off Harry's attack, but it did little good. A second swing shattered the bones in the man's forearm.

"Stop it!" The wizard's wife screamed.

Harry forgot about her. "Or what?" he asked, turning her way.

"Or I'll make sure the Dark Lord knows what you've done, and that he pays you back ounce for bloody ounce . . ." her voice trailed off as the mirrors and windows shattered inward and swirled in a mighty windstorm around the house-elf, standing in the middle of the room.

"Dobby decideds. Bad Death Eater wife not talking to nasty Dark Lord!" And then, Dobby floated a foot off the ground and a lilt tinged his next words. "Dobby says it's time for bad wife to die."

He thrust his hands forward, palms together. Glass whistled forward like a cannon shot, slicing through the witch. Then, a rip the same size as Dobby's hands opened between the witch's breasts. He wrenched his hands apart, and the woman's torso exploded.

"That takes care of her," Harry said, turning back to the Death Eater. And before the wizard could grasp his wife's death, Harry cracked him across the head with the iron end of the poker. Once, twice, three times it came descended. The wizard's skull split open. Then, Harry double-fisted the poker and completed the _coup de grâce, _driving it through both temples into the wooden subfloor.

Then he turned to Dobby. "Did they have any children?"

"There being only one."

"Old enough to be loyal to Voldemort?"

The elf shook its head. "She being three and a halfies. I be taking her to safe spot."

Harry nodded. "And hurry. We have five other houses tonight." Dobby Disapparated, and then Harry heard a pop as the elf Disapparated again with the child in tow, headed wherever the elf was taking her.

Harry had just set the Pottermark when Dobby reappeared. "Do you need a rest?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby not being done for long time. Maskies be dying for hurting Winky, and Dragon-Weasley, and baby witches." Then that feral look Harry had seen on the roof earlier the night before reappeared. "Dobby and Greatest wizard be making them bleed. They be crying and bleeding, and Dobby no help, but Dobby is happy to watch. And then they die, all die. And Dobby is happiest elf."

"My thought's exactly," Harry said. "That list you nicked two houses back had a hundred names of recruits, and the Masks that recruited them. We're going to be real busy."

"Then we be wasting no more time."

Dobby and Harry linked hands, and they Disapparated to the next house on the list. That night, Seven Potter Marks appeared in the skies over Britain, and throughout the rest of the summer, Potter Marks went up over flesh-decorated charnel houses throughout the island.

But in Diagon Alley, Fleur and Gabrielle grew more unsettled each day. They searched Wizarding communities across Britain following Potter marks, without luck. The thought of joining Jaycinda and through her, others fighting Voldemort, tempted them, but they were beginning to draw attention to themselves and didn't want to endanger her or Mr. Fortescue.

* * *

><p>*The math here is correct. At 300 miles an hour, they flew for a little over thirty seconds, which would put them at about 2 34 miles high, and right close to three miles above sea level. At that height, Line-of-Sight is right about a hundred fifty miles. Breathing is difficult with rapid accent, though definitely not impossible (there's Freeways across the Rocky Mountains that almost reach that height, over twelve thousand feet if I remember right). That LoS is more than ample for seeing both coastlines, and the cities mentioned from the middle of Scotland.

Note also that the affects leading up to G-LOC (G-force induced Loss Of Consciousness) are correct, or as accurate as I could find through research. I stole this concept from another fic I was working on, but will never see the light of day. The numbers are as follows: that high up, the broom was flying at 350 miles an hour (no wonder they put Speed Governing Charms on professional Quidditch brooms!) The radius of the turn they were making was 1500 feet, or approx. three seconds. The g-force at those speeds and turns amounts to 5.4 Gs, which is enough to knock out someone who isn't used to it.


	24. Riding the Night

.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**Riding the Night  
><strong>

". . . And cinch it tight. When we face those witches later, you want nothing restricting your wand movement."

Gabrielle, fumbling with her gray winter robe, stopped and glared. "I _have _dressed myself before."

"I know. I just . . ." With a sigh, Fleur rechecked her black winter boots tucked under flare jeans, then shrugged into her robe and started buttoning it when trembling hands betrayed her worry.

Gabrielle pushed them away. "Let me. This"—she tapped a button—"goes through an eyelet, here. And this one, through here."

A growl escaped Fleur's throat.

"Problem?"

"I have dressed myself before."

Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. "I know. I just . . . figured you needed help in your dotage." She sidestepped a Tickling Jinx. "Hey! Stop! I'm sorry!"

"Better be," Fleur teased.

"I still say it's too early, but where are we headed?"

"A Pottermark appeared in St. Buryan's southwestern sky, two miles east of Cornwall near something called _the_ _Merry Maidens. _I figured we should visit."

Harsh winds and driving rain from low-lying clouds left only Pottermark remnants. To the west lay rolling hills and east, farmhouses. Boxed in between by hedges were nineteen chest-high stones that resonated with endemic magic and encircled almost fifteen hundred feet of grassland. And, in the middle lay a wizard's body, positioned with his feet touching those of a witch and two children.

They drew near and Gabrielle knelt next to a child's body. "How old do you think she was?"

"Thirteen, maybe," Fleur answered. She glanced opposite Gabrielle. "I doubt he's over twelve."

"Why would 'Arry kill them?"

"I don't know."

It made little sense. Every corpse until today bore either a Dark Mark, or scars and bruises evidencing magical battles, if not both. But not these children—she doubted they could hold a wand without jinxing themselves.

Gabrielle's eyebrows knitted together. "Which way is north?"

"You're Veela, why ask me?"

"Just answer the question."

Fleur pointed in the father's direction. "That way."

"And south?"

"Opposite." The mother's direction.

"And east and west?" Gabrielle asked again.

And as she opened her mouth to answer, it clicked—they lay forming points of a compass. But why? What excused murdering children?

"Um, Fleur . . . where are we, exactly?"

"Cornwall, southeastern part of Britain."

"Southeastern; that means . . . No way! It's not that easy."

"What are you thinking?"

"Well—" Gabrielle pointed "—father's aimed north, and he's the tallest, mother's facing south . . ."

"And?" Fleur asked.

"Distance to England's four shores." Eyes alight with comprehension, Gabrielle continued. "It's a warning! There's no safety in Britain for Death Eaters, nowhere they can hide; north, east, south, west, he'll come for them all, anywhere, anytime."

"So to send a message, he murders . . ." Fleur's breath caught in her throat. "'Arry, what have you done?"

She trembled as North Atlantic winter winds drove frigid rain through her robes, her clothes, her skin, her heart while her life became a horror of Pottermarks and twisted tarts, chasing the first and being chased by the second as she watched a mockery of the wizard she loved rising as a new Dark Lord, slaying and laying barely pubescent children as pictogram props.

_Your beloved Flower_, chanted a voice in the reconstructed memory, and she determined it a prophecy. How did she get it so wrong?

Or did she?

Earlier last week, Fleur listened to wizards telling a story: Harry raided another Death Eater home and overheard a fourteen-year-old berating his parents for serving Voldemort. The boy lived, warned never to follow his parent's path.

A wizard, swallowed by darkness, wouldn't have cared. But Harry spared him. So, he wasn't lost, and she wasn't wrong. Newfound conviction straightened her back.

The rain slowed.

"What am I missing?" she wondered.

The Horcrux? Last spring, alongside Markus, Harry warred like a furious demigod without thought, but here lay a message meticulously planned. So, Harry controlled the Horcrux, rather than it controlling him. And if Harry allowed fourteen-year-old wizards to live, then another reason must exist for what lay here.

On that, she rested her hope.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Ready?"

Markus's eyes swept his young Zashtitniks preparing for battle before answering Jaleena's boyfriend—and his best friend. "Yeah, how's everyone else?"

"Excited," Helmut said. "Like Azzurra spending a day with a wedding planner, from what I heard."

Markus snorted. "You're a comedian."

"And you're getting married in three months." Helmut moved on, speaking with each _Entwicklungsteam_ member_. _

_Ents_ served as backup to a main Zashtitnik team, allowing younger members to grow into their jobs. Six months ago, Helmut led the Ents, but gladly handed it to him when school finished.

Markus's father poked through the doorway. "It's a go."

He stood and faced his Ents. "Listen! We're headed to the Georgia-Turkish border, a few dozen miles from the Black sea. Our mission is 'Kill on Sight'."

"Death Eaters? In Georgia?" another team member asked.

"Yes, Ilija, in Georgia."

"Forgive me for asking an obvious question, but . . ."

"It's an Apparition Layover station and safe house. Voldemort's gathering his people in England. That, however, is privileged information, not to leave this room."

Ilija nodded.

Twenty minutes later, Markus's four-person subunit gathered at a back door and a dark, surrounding forest hid his other Ents on overwatch duty.

The second-hand clicked twenty-three times while they assembled in a breaching line, careful not to touch the wall and advertise their presence. Then, with fifteen seconds left, he waved Helmut forward.

Ten seconds left.

Nine.

Eight.

An explosion rocked the front entrance where his father's team had assembled. "Contact! Go! Go! Go!" he screamed.

Helmut's Blasting Curse shredded door and frame. Around him, benighted forests came alive and curses ripped through the air, catching broom-mounted Death Eaters escaping from windows.

Markus pushed through the doorway, taking a path of least resistance—as trained—left. His second Ent broke right.

Another explosion tremored walls and foundation.

A half-dozen Death Eaters poured in from a corridor. Markus sent a Killing Curse toward a Death Eater, ducked under a Black Widow Curse and weaved left, then transfigured a table and two chairs into three Rottweilers. They pounced, but orange and yellow spells from Death Eater wands sliced them in half. And then curses erupted from his team, ending any threat.

"Clear!" Ents reported.

They reassembled and moved into the hall.

A third explosion rocked the front, and, through a window, he noticed his father's overwatch subunit collapsing inward. Damn it! That meant his father was in trouble! Everything inside him screamed to rush to his father's aid. So he pushed forward, worried about what he'd find.

_Crunch! _

Sounds of breaking glass reached his ears before an explosion tore through wood, carpet, and flesh, disintegrating Markus's lower body. His last thoughts went to his father, Azzurra, and his stupidity at tripping a potion-trap, and then he slipped into soft oblivion.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Knockturn Alley crawled with entities that may or may not have been nominally human. Decrepit hags and ghoulish wizards sold their wares, and according to some, severed Muggle heads were making a strong comeback.

Fleur and Gabrielle avoided the entire scene by creeping along behind the stores.

"There. That's where they'll appear." Fleur pointed at a small concrete porch. A railing spanned its width. "What time is it?"

Gabrielle cleared her throat. "Almost eight, are you sure we have to do this?"

"If you're not comfortable with it, leave and I'll come when I'm finished."

"There's no way I'm letting you go it alone."

"Stubborn hen," Fleur joked, and then grew serious. "If we lose control, hit them with your nastiest spells."

"Even if it kills them?"

"They work with Death Eaters, and we've seen them together enough times, so yes!"

A short time later, Apparition cracks announced company. Fleur cut right, separating herself from her sister and stunning a blonde witch. But a second witch with black hair proved too fast for Gabrielle. Her spell shot through just-emptied air, smacking a brick wall. Black-Hair slid left and cast a Piercing Spell.

Time stretched, and Fleur tracked it racing toward her faster than she could dodge. It burrowed through her right shoulder, dying out somewhere in the meaty section of her back.

Reality snapped back to normal speed, and she screamed in pain.

Gabrielle's second spell, a Blasting Curse, launched Black-Hair into a brick wall.

But Blond-Hair had recovered enough to manage a wicked looking curse. It screeched passed Gabrielle with an inch to spare.

Fleur decided that was enough. "_Avada Kedavra_!" she cried, and Blond-Hair's next cast stopped mid-slash and her wand skittered along pavement.

Fleur turned on Black-Hair. "If you so much as move, I'll kill—"

Her shoulder, however, chose that particular moment to tell the rest of her body how pissed off it was. Fleur sank to a knee, her stomach in revolt. Only Gabrielle's hands kept her from collapsing.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I . . . I froze."

"Never mind that now," Fleur said. "Watch her! If she moves, blast the hell out of her." Gabrielle obeyed, so Fleur eased her robe from her shoulder and gingerly poked at her wound. It wasn't the worst she'd ever suffered. So, with clinching teeth, she turned her wand and began a special Veela Healing Spell.

"Stop!" Gabrielle yelled. "You'll destroy your shoulder that way! Here, you watch the stupid witch and I'll do the Healing Spells."

The first spell touched her shoulder, and pain racked her body, driving tears from her eyes. Veela Healing magic sped a body's process along—if they hadn't slipped into torpor, but immense pain made them undesirable for most injuries, like Gabrielle's last summer at the ice-cream parlor.

The second spell was almost unbearable.

Then, with a third, sparks escaped her wand, transfiguring into angry hornets before dying off as they reached Gabrielle.

"Ouch!"

At least, most of them died.

"Was that necessary?" asked Gabrielle.

"Shut it!" Fleur answered, "and help me."

Still rubbing her bum, Gabrielle lifted Fleur by her good arm, and together, they approached Black-Hair. A snitch-sized goose egg rose above her right eyebrow. She moaned, leaned over, and vomited.

"What's your name?" Fleur asked when she'd finished.

"Piss off."

"That's not very nice." Gabby extended an index finger and poked the goose egg, which set off another moan, followed by more vomit.

Fleur's eyebrows crinkled at her sister and she answered with a shrug.

"Let's try again," Fleur said. "Who are you?"

"Daphne."

"Daphne what?"

"Why does it matter?"

Gabrielle crossed her arms. "Unless you want another poke in the head . . ."

"Bitch."

Poke.

Moan.

Puke.

"Told you."

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Would you stop? She can't tell us anything if she's too busy puking!"

"Fine." Gabby turned back to Daphne. "Answer my sister."

"No."

Gabby kicked Daphne in the shin and she jumped, smacking her goose egg against the railing. Her eyes rolled back and she blacked out again.

"Gabrielle!"

"What? I didn't poke her in the head!"

Fleur glared at her sister before hitting Daphne with a Quickening Charm, then waited while she puked. "You have a concussion. Answer our questions quickly, and we'll leave you alone."

"Not likely. Just finish what Potter started and leave, that's why you're here."

Fleur shared a glance with Gabby. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play stupid. Potter kidnapped my father and murdered him, then displayed his body at Gringotts with lies justifying his death."

"If 'Arry lied, it was by understating your father's crimes," Gabrielle said.

Daphne tensed, was she stupid enough to try something? Fleur wondered.

She wasn't, thankfully.

"Why are you following us?" Fleur tried again.

"Why do you think?" Then, Daphne caught sight of Blonde-Hair. "Pansy!"

"Pansy's dead." Pain kept any sentiment from Fleur's voice. "And you will be too if you don't answer my questions."

But Daphne ignored her, crawling instead to Pansy and pulling her dead friend's body into her arms.

Thirty seconds passed before Fleur cleared her throat. "One more chance. Why are you following us?"

"To get Harry!" she blurted. "We thought you'd lead us to him."

Gabby stepped forward. "Why would you think that?"

Daphne looked to Fleur. "You're his girlfriend, aren't you? That's what they told us."

"Who told you?" Fleur asked, her menace-laced voice almost inaudible.

"Th . . . them."

"Death Eaters?"

Daphne nodded, then wiped a smudge of dirt from her dead friend's face. "Stupid bloody war. It's not worth it." She cradled Pansy and sobbed.

Fleur shared another look with Gabrielle, then cast a stunner, interrupting the Daphne's misery.

"She'll be out for a few hours. Let's go."

They stayed in shadows and moved toward Ollivander's. After casting Obscuring Charms—which didn't much help—they crossed the road and slipped behind another row of buildings, making their way back to Ollivander's wand shop.

"We gotta go. We're not safe here anymore," Fleur said as soon as they entered.

"Are you okay?" Gabrielle asked.

Fleur tried ignoring the pain radiating from her shoulder, but it proved too painful. "Maybe I should sit a moment."

"I'm sorry," Gabrielle said again as Fleur eased herself to their bed. "When I watched that spell hit you, I thought . . ." Her eyes shined with unshed tears. "I watched that witch cry over her friend, and I kept thinking, what if that was you?"

"I know. It's the same reason I wanted you to stay home, afraid I'd be the one holding your dead body in my arms in some back alley."

Silence stretched between them until Gabrielle asked, "How long will that witch be stunned?"

"Hours, most likely."

"Good." Gabby stood. "You ruined your robe. Rest while I'll head into Muggle London and replace it."

Fleur opened her mouth to argue, but soft, warm sheets beckoned her to stay, and her body felt so tired. "Be careful, please?"

"Careful?" Gabby snatched a blanket and covered her. "Muggle London's a ton safer than here, so worry more about what I'm buying. Would you prefer tiger stripes, or hot pink?"

"Brat."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry wiped bloodied hands against his trousers, then realized they were stained. No Cleaning Charm could remove a child's blood.

"Huh, guess I still have some semblance of a conscience. Imagine that."

"Great Harry Potter being worried?" Dobby asked. Opening an eye. "They bad wizards. Even baby wizard and witch be saying 'I'm lost' to trap others. And little wizard and witch die fast—not slow like Winky, or witches in cages. Faster than deserved."

"When's the Death Eater meeting?" he asked, changing subjects.

"Two weeks."

"We should rest until then. Death Eaters are so agitated they're getting dangerous."

Dobby flashed him a frightening look, and Harry remembered that no matter how deep he'd fallen into a cesspool of Dark Arts, Dobby had dug deeper into arcane elf nature, one that ruled elves long before they became docile.

"Dobby is confused. We punish bad masters. They beg, they scream, they bleed, and we no stop. Greatest Wizard revenges his _Altu_ and bad wizards die. So why Greatest Wizard stop now? Punishment not finished, not finished at all."

"It's a short break until Death Eaters grow complacent. Then we'll kill twice as many in half the time."

Dobby's eyes grew wide. "Ooooh, you _are _Greatest Wizard."

Harry faked a smile and closed his eyes, wondering if ending a threat of a dark lord by suicide would allow another to rise—in elf form.

His thoughts disturbed him on several levels, but beyond anything else, he just didn't want to kill Dobby; it'd be another large blot blackening his soul.

As if it even mattered, anymore.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

A knock interrupted Azzurra's quiet morning. Ornate marble floors and intricate, woodworked walls carried sound throughout Sala Manor's first floor and into her sitting room.

Her mother greeted whomever it was in a friendly way. So, with a concerted effort, she sank back into fourteenth century politics and a flock-split between Polish and Prussian Veela until her mother entered the room.

Not once, in all Azzurra's life, did she see her mother with such a soft expression.

"Azzurra? Markus's father is here."

An iron fist gripped her stomach.

"He, he has something to tell you."

The fist squeezed as the distinguished looking Zashtitnik entered her room. "Oh, God, tell me Markus is okay."

He knelt next to her, his red-rimmed eyes already hinting at her future broken life. "We raided a Death Eater's stronghold earlier today. Markus was leading his team, coming through the hall to the front when he . . . when . . ."

"When what!"

"An explosion . . . he's, he's gone."

She jerked back. "No! No! He's not dead!" She glared them both. "Impossible!"

"Markus!" her voice rang out. She marched toward the front door. He'd pulled stupid pranks before, but he'd gone too far, today. It'd take him a month to recover from the beating he was about to receive.

But he wasn't there, so she marched back to her mother and his father, still in denial. Markus had faced a dozen Death Eaters with Harry and walked away, fought tons of battles over the last few months, and always survived without a scratch.

"He's not dead!" she repeated. "He . . . please, tell me it's a joke! Tell me he's hiding somewhere!"

And then, the enveloping arms of her future father-in-law broke through as she felt his tears warming her cheek.

"He loved you, Azzurra; you were so good for him."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Darkness claimed paving stones and storefronts in Diagon Alley, and inside Ollivander's Wand Shop, Fleur opened her eyes to see Gabrielle putting away boxes of wands Ollivander had tasked her for caretaking. The clock hanging from the wall showed she had slept three hours.

Fleur jerked upright and almost blacked out in pain.

"Welcome back to the living, how's your shoulder?" Gabrielle closed a box of Yew wood wands and slid it into its storage container, then turned and waited for Fleur to answer.

"Horrid, but it doesn't matter. I'm sure Death Eaters are looking for us, and I'd prefer somewhere else while I'm healing."

Gabby looked as though she wanted to argue, but stopped and instead, snagged Fleur's Muggle-made Greatcoat she found in a second-hand store. Excluding a pattern and extra buttons, it resembled a traveling robe.

Fleur slid the coat on and hissed, the weight pulling at her shoulder, but at least it was warm.

"What about the rest of our stuff?"

"Leave it," she answered. "We'll can conjure or replace anything we need."

Gabrielle gave the shop another look. "I'll miss living here. Any idea where we're headed?"

"Away from London. We'll rest and plan in a Muggle hotel somewhere."

"With real showers?"

"And separate beds—if we have enough money."

"And we'll stay until your shoulder heals, right?" Real hope shined in Gabrielle's eyes.

Fleur rotated her arm and winced again. "It shouldn't take that long, but we'll extend it a few days, just in case."

Gabrielle threw her arms around Fleur, careful of her shoulder. "I'll lock the front door."

"We never even used it," Fleur said.

"True, but checking won't hurt, and after Mr. Ollivander let us stay . . ."

"Fine, but hurry!"

Gabrielle grabbed her robe and scooted out of the room.

Behind her, Fleur leaned against the desk and closed her eyes. They were no closer to finding Harry than six months ago, and for the hundredth time, she considered contacting Neville through Jaycinda—

Her sister raced back into the room. "Death Eaters! Out front!"

And just as she announced it, large pane glass windows shattered inward and a volley of spells crashed against a wall opposite them, knocking loose centuries of dust.

"Go!" Fleur ordered.

They raced into the backroom as the backdoor blew off its hinges.

Gabrielle's wand twisted and a red curse streaked forward, striking a Death Eater. Fleur followed with a pair of Killing Curses, knocking out two more Death Eaters. Then, a third and fourth Death eater tripped over their dead compatriots and sprawled across the floor.

"Upstairs," Fleur cried.

Gabrielle fired a pink and gray spell that Fleur had never seen, then raced upstairs. Behind her, Fleur shot a Cutting Curse at another Death Eater before she turned to follow, and slipped, wrenching her shoulder while grabbing the railing. A pained scream escaped as she landed on the staircase and twelve inches above her head, a Killing Curse traversed the space she'd just vacated, crashing against the wall.

"Fleur!" Gabrielle launched from above, wings spread, and landed in the middle of the room. She transformed back and ripped the stopper from her Veela magic.

All four wizards seized, and then, a second later their hips bucked.

A pair of hands helped Fleur stand, and Gabby pulled her along as they made their way upstairs amid embarrassing moans of climaxing Death Eaters. "You're not mad at me for that, are you?" Gabby asked as they wound through the second floor junk-maze.

"I'd say it was life or death, so no," Fleur answered. "But after burning your image in their brain, make sure they don't catch you."

Gabrielle's eyes flared. "Yeah, let's leave."

"Not yet."

"What?"

"Open the windows, but wait for me."

Gabrielle obeyed, and they endured winter's harsh bite in silence, keeping an ear tuned to the first floor. Fleur hoped the defensive spells she prepared last summer still worked.

The stairwell shook as Death Eaters pounded upstairs.

Fleur shot a spell at a box resting against a wall at the top of the stairs. It, and ten more stacked upon it, tumbled. Lids opened, disgorging a hundred broken and malformed wands from each box. A wooden avalanche sent Death Eaters sprawling toward the ground floor. Then Fleur cast a charm, activating Holding Spells. Each of those released a Blasting Curse, and the resulting explosion blew through floorboards and incinerated every Death Eater inside the shop.

Both Veela sisters dove through the windowsill, transformed, and glided into the shadows across the alley. The world swam before Fleur amid tear-filled eyes and stomach turning nausea, and her wounded shoulder screamed at its abuse. She stumbled, but Gabrielle grabbed her and held tight, guiding her deeper through a small break between buildings.

She rested behind an opposite row of stores a few minutes, and then, with a gallant effort she pushed back to her feet. "Stay right behind me," she instructed, then crept forward to witness the aftermath.

She gasped.

Ollivander's wand shop no longer existed. The entire building had collapsed, along with the abandoned store next to it, and in the street, Death Eater robes fluttered among dead bodies.

Except for one. A Death Eater stumbled over bodies looking for his mask. He found one, discarded it, and then kept searching.

Behind him, Fleur raised her wand, but wasn't it time for a different strategy? She stopped. If chasing Potter Marks wasn't getting her anywhere, then maybe going after Harry's targets would.

So with eyes closed, she called upon her Veela magic, wrapped it around a Protection Charm, and then cast it at the nearest Death Eater. Satisfied, Fleur slid deeper into the shadows again, fighting another round of rising pain and nausea from her wound. She and Gabrielle rested a moment, then slipped through a small exit they'd discovered, that dumped them into Muggle London two blocks from Diagon Alley's normal entrance.

They zigzagged through London's late evening streets until Fleur couldn't walk anymore.

"Let's rest in there. We can grab dinner," Gabby suggested, pointing to a dingy pub.

"Think you can Apparate, yet?" her sister asked an hour later, dropping her fork into a grease-soaked paper lining her empty basket.

Fleur shoveled a last bite of fish into her mouth, savoring its warmth—breaded and heavy—and the best meal she'd had since October when they stayed in Muggle London for dinner one evening. Salt and vinegar chips provided tonight's perfect side dish.

"A few more minutes. The Healing Spell is almost finished, even with whatever I did to it earlier." And the bloodstained interior of the Greatcoat testified she _had_ retarded the spell's work.

Veela healing spells _hurt_ as they healed. Whether purposeful or an oversight, Fleur didn't know. But if she ever met the Veela-hen that deemed it acceptable, a long talk was in order!

Waves of pain thrummed across her shoulder and arm. She clenched her hand.

"Okay, dear?" a waitress asked.

She cleaned empty plates from their table.

"I will be, salt and vinegar doesn't mix with paper cuts, I guess," she lied.

"Ah, painful, but it'll clean it out at least. Can I get you anything else? A wet towel, maybe?"

"No thanks," Fleur answered. "Give me a minute or two to get over it, and we'll leave."

The older woman smiled. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"We will," Gabrielle answered for a grimacing Fleur. She leaned forward. "What was that?"

"The end of the spell, I think." Fleur rolled her shoulder, and then rotated her arm once, twice, three times. "I think it's done. God! did that ever hurt."

"Good, don't do it again!"

"Good advice, why didn't you remind me earlier?"

Gabrielle shook her head and Fleur grinned. "Ready?"

"Yeah, but you haven't said where we're going yet."

"Ever hear of Liverpool?"

Gabrielle turned up her nose. "Why are we going there?"

"I hit a Death Eater with a makeshift Tracing Charm earlier."

A wash of emotions graced Gabrielle's features, ending with confusion. "Why didn't you hit 'Arry with it? We knew he was coming here!"

"It lasts a few hours," Fleur answered. "Zekānōt can track any marked wizard, but they must cast the spell on the target, and it takes a dozen Zekānōt member's combined strength to use it. So it wouldn't have worked for 'Arry."

"Wait a second, why would the Zekānōt create a charm to stalk some poor wizard?"

"Remember the Veela wars Grandma told us about? After the Zekānōt formed, some flocks were still trying to settle debts. They used the charm to trace stolen men."

"You know, the more I learn about Veela history, the less I like."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry stood on a hill overlooking a small magical village in western Wales—it was half Hogsmeade's size and held none of its charm. He pondered tonight's work. If his vision were correct, a portion of Voldemort's inner-circle gathered below to plan future endeavors.

Dobby popped back into existence next to his elbow. "Tommyriddle still being in funny-speak-land."

He smiled at the elf mocking someone else's patois. "Can you keep an eye on him; make sure he doesn't return?"

"Dobby gets no death tonight?"

"I can't fight Riddle _and _his Death Eaters, even with your help."

The house-elf's ears twitched. "But, we having more."

"More?"

"House-elves. And having wands. House-elves fight better than nasty-robed wizards."

"You said that after Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts, but how? House-elves never had wands before, so how did they learn so fast?"

"Wand-waving tied to wizard-magic. But elf-magic be different. No swish, jab, flick, or silly words. House-elf just point. Wand core magic makes House-elf magic bigger, go farther, more direct." Dobby's ears curled forward. "Does Greatest Wizard remember spell Dobby used at Uncle's home?"

"Sure, why?"

"Dobby plus wand can make cake fall from park by Greatest Wizard's house."

Damn. So a wand's core amplified elf magic, or reduced resistance as it traveled to its target, or . . . What? His magical theory studies at Durmstrang were limited to utilitarian uses.

That kind of power, though . . .

"Not tonight," he decided. "I'm not wasting a great surprise on something so small."

"But House-elves fight Death Eaters already."

"And how many Death Eaters lived?"

A nod. "Dobby understands. Track Tommyriddle so Greatest Wizard no worry about him," the elf answered, the distaste at being sent away written across his face. And then, without another word, he disappeared.

"So much for lying low," Harry whispered to himself, then started toward his target.

Ten minutes later and fifty yards from his destination, his instincts sent him diving right. A smoky Cessation Curse blinked into existence and collided with a tree behind him. Had it hit, he wondered whether the Horcrux or his own spirit would have frozen.

But dirt jumping a foot from his face amid a red glow reminded him he was in a battle, and he cast wandlessly to his right, shattering a large Yew tree and impaling Death Eaters with Wooden missiles.

Harry dove behind a rock outcropping, face to face with another silver-masked wizard, and before he could react, a straight left connected with Harry's chin. His legs went rubbery and he collapsed against a rock, but rolled left away from a curse barreling toward him.

Then, the Horcrux offered Voldemort's Self-Preservation Charm from his garnered memories, and a quick slash of his wand, down and right, sent a spell through a Death Eater's shield and screeching across his mask. Silver material melted, sealing eyes, nose, and mouth. But before the wizard could escape—or choke to death—Harry's Cutting Curse slashed his throat, soaking both wizards with arterial spray.

Then, a falling shadow caught his attention. He rose and stared into malevolent eyes coming for him. Curse after curse pulsed from his wand: Killing Curse, Binding Spell, Torture Curse, _Imperius _Curse; but nothing checked its descent.

So Harry gripped his wand with both hands and cast a spell so dangerous, he never dared before; Fiendfyre ripped forward. With a jerk, he set it loose. Fire in demonic form vaporized his enemy; whatever it was.

Then, with another sweep, he fought to regain control over his fire-demon, but it had already reached sentience—hungering to consume all in its path, and it turned on its creator. Harry ducked right as flames struck the boulder behind him, reducing it to slag.

Damn! This was _not _good!

He considered his options—or better put, his option, and he hated being blind against Voldemort, but he had no other choice.

"Dobby!"

Flames licked forward and a Death Eater screamed in agony before going silent.

Dobby appeared—eyes wide and ears pinned against his head, taking in the melee. A moment later, he understood and popped away a second time.

Another Death Eater materialized, and Harry caught a Cutting Curse across both hamstrings, then avoided two more curses by shielding with a small boulder, but the spells' impact shattered it, thrusting large rocks into Harry's chest.

He tumbled backward, getting off a String Trip Jinx as he fell and sparing a few seconds for himself.

What the hell! Voldemort's spell repertoire backed with decades of knowledge was vastly overrated!

_You Idiot_, that voice from deep within mocked_. Simple knowledge falls short of hard-won wisdom. Did you not realize that? _

"Bugger off. You could've reminded me earlier," he answered.

The sticky warmth sliding along both his back legs worried him, as did his chest, which felt caved in.

And then, a last Death Eater jumped him. Blow after blow landed against his head, his arms, his chest, pummeling him until he failed even to produce wandless magic to protect himself.

But forty house-elves popping into existence provided his distraction, and Harry crushed a right into a large jaw, creating enough space to push him away.

A quick look told Harry that his fire-demon had already blackened a quarter acre of land.

House-elves worked fast, blackening twice that amount with their own spells. Hurricane force winds roared from above, driving his Fiendfyre back on itself—and toward him. As the glowing beast streaked toward its last source of fuel, Harry made a split-second decision.

He dove on top of the Death Eater and Apparated, hoping that by denying his spell anything more to burn, it'd die, rather than jumping the elf's containment circle and consuming half the island.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

It was stupid. Foolish, even, but Fleur had to find whoever attacked them earlier.

They moved along dilapidated buildings, and streets littered with paper, human feces, used condoms, and broken, half-dead people.

"Just a few more blocks," she said, but Gabrielle didn't bother answering as they picked their way along.

A few minutes later, they approached a building and swelling music swallowed Fleur's low groan.

"What's wrong?"

She raised her chin toward a sign. "A bad idea for Veela. Stay along the outer wall and don't remove your traveling robe. And please, keep your hood pulled tight over your face, your wand ready, and if something happens, get out immediately. Got it?"

Gabby's eyes widened. "What is this place?"

Fleur's lip curled in disgust. "A strip bar. Pheromones'll be so thick in there it'll make you want to vomit."

Loud music and a thumping base accosted them as they stepped into a narrow hall, and an intimidating figure rose from his chair to meet them. Next to him, a middle-aged man still fighting acne held out a hand. "Five quid."

Fleur lowered her hood and smiled. "A cover charge? For us?"

"Yes, for you," the bouncer answered.

"It's how we make money, you stupid bitch," Acne-man added.

Her smile dropped, as did her wand into her hand, but Gabrielle hurried between them. "I _really _need the loo! Please, Mister?"

"The loo, huh?" the man repeated.

Where Fleur's seductress persona failed, Gabrielle's innocent-witch routine succeeded. He shook his head. "Whatever, it's not like amateur night's a big draw anymore."

They stepped into a large room, and Gabby lost a little of her innocence. Wide eyes betrayed her shock at both a pheromone-laden crowd and the on-stage entertainment.

The stage itself spanned the front, with two walls angling away in classic theater style. Gaudy deep-red curtains from the building's original use decorated the walls. A staggered floor—like elongated stairs, each one wide enough for a table—provided an unobstructed view of the front. A patron or two occupied most of them, nursing overpriced beers while memorizing tonight's lust-filled visions that'd help them do things to themselves later Fleur didn't want to imagine.

"Do you remember what our Death Eater looked like?" Fleur asked.

"I think so."

"Good." She pointed to an exit by the stage. "Head that way. I'll circle and exit the opposite door. We'll meet behind the club."

"What if I see him?"

"Then stay hidden and I'll come to you."

The song changed, accompanying a change in dancers.

Hidden by shadow, Fleur worked towards the back wall, cataloging each face and cringing when someone returned her gaze. She wished her makeshift tracking spell still worked, but it faded fifteen minutes earlier as they entered the building.

Songs and musical tastes changed, followed by another song, and then another; and the crowd cheered the swaying, stripping dancers.

Fleur crept around to the far wall, step by disgusting step, growing sick from the pheromone-laden air.

The music changed again. A rhythmic thump began, followed by a single guitar note held over several beats. Enraptured faces tracked every move, bewitched by the feminine spectacle before them.

And then, she froze. In the corner of her eye, blonde hair flailed from a supple, body swinging awkwardly from the pole. Speechless, mortified, befuddled, none of them could describe Fleur as Gabrielle sauntered forward, and with a wink and twist, her gray winter robe sailed through the air.

Fleur's legs buckled. She staggered to a table, thankfully empty, praying her sister's performance was almost finished. Oh, was she wrong! It had just begun, and the words added a whole new layer of wrongness . . . "She rides, let loose upon the world, she is the night . . ."

Gabrielle slowly unbuttoned her blouse, then grabbed the pole, and jumped, swinging with more confidence as she hooked a leg around it, leaned back, and spiraled to the floor.

Veela nature bore vast, innate knowledge: certain types of magic, flock battle strategy, even healing abilities; but working a stripper pole was _not _one of them. Fleur shuttered to think how her sister had learned.

On stage, Gabby pushed herself up, turned her back to the crowd, and let her unbuttoned shirt fly as the singer crooned, "She slides, down inside your skin, in time, she'll make you scream, she's death, in a cool black dress, she rides . . ."

Fleur groaned.

And Gabby worked the crowd, prancing along the stage in jeans and a bra. Her shoes, transfigured into four-inch stilettos, evoked another groan from Fleur, accompanied with an eye roll.

"She rides the night . . . She'll take you down, she'll take you alone . . ."

The last word faded into a hi-hat four-count that Gabrielle marked with a slow twist around the pole, her back arched, displaying her tight-jeaned arse. Then a snare drum exploded through the speakers and Gabby slapped her arse, releasing a split-second flare of Veela magic.

The front seven rows jerked backward in lust-addled bliss.

And, sitting at the table on the far left side, Fleur buried her face in both hands. But as the song continued, she peered through fingers, finding her sister staring at her. Then, Gabby glanced left, to Fleur, and then left again.

She . . . She didn't! She couldn't have!

Fifteen feet away sat her Death Eater with drink in hand. Surreptitious wand-work plus a whispered "_Imperio_!" took control of the Death Eater. Through the door and into the alley they walked until Fleur commanded him to stop.

"Who sent you earlier?"

Nothing.

After the day she suffered, including watching her little sister using Veela magic in ways that made Fleur's skin crawl, Fleur decided enough was enough and grabbed the Death Eater by the throat. "I'll command you into a brick wall or into a busy street."

He didn't answer, so she squeezed until he choked, then released him with a shove. "Still silent? Let's go play in traffic."

Three cloaked figures exited the far stage door, hoods covering their heads and hiding their faces. They fanned across the back alley, trapping Fleur, who ducked behind her Death Eater puppet.

"The wizard is ours," the tall one standing point announced. "Leave him and go."

She ignored him and instead, released her empathic senses.

They weren't leaving without the wizard, she noted, but they didn't want to hurt her, either. So she ventured a compromise. "One hour, then I'll give 'im to you."

The middle wizard shook his head, and Fleur tried reaching out with her senses again. But instead, she caught something even more confusing: too few pheromones from three wizards exiting a strip club.

Light flooded the alley and the middle wizard spun, only to hit the pavement under Gabrielle's Veela magic. "Stay there!" she ordered, turning her wand on the closest wizard.

Fleur leveled hers at the other wizard. "Lower your 'oods!" she demanded.

"Wait . . . that . . . say that again," Fleur's target said.

She blinked. That wizard . . . was a witch! No wonder Gabby's magic hadn't affected them.

"I said, lower your 'oods!"

The witch obeyed, and Fleur blinked in recognition. "Susan?"

Susan Bones grinned as did Cho Change a second later. "And that git lying prone is Neville. What did you do to him, anyway?" Cho wondered.

Neville cleared his throat. "Don't ask."

Behind them, Gabrielle kept her wand on her witch. "You know them?"

"Yeah, I do. Remember 'Arry and his friends talking about a wizard named _Chaos?_"

Neville groaned. "Bloody hell, not you too."

The three older witches laughed, and finally Gabrielle lowered her wand. "Wait, that's . . . that's Neville? Oh no!" Her cheeks grew deep scarlet.

Cho shot Gabrielle a once-over, then turned back toward Fleur. "Is that . . . ?" She glanced over her shoulder again. "That's your sister!"

Fleur's forehead crinkled. Had Cho met Gabrielle . . . the second task! They spent an entire morning together in Dumbledore's office.

"Maybe we should continue our conversation elsewhere?" Neville interrupted. "Where are you staying?"

"Ollivander's Wand Shop, or, we were until this bastard and his friends attacked," Fleur answered.

"Why don't you come with us?" Neville offered.

"We don't have much," Susan added, "but there's a mattress and clean sheets waiting for you, not to mention heat and a roof over your head."

And friends, Fleur thought. And, maybe, they'd help find Harry. She gestured at her Death Eater. "What about him?"

Neville, Cho, and Susan shared a look and a slight nod. "Alright, here's what we're doing," Neville said.

Three minutes and fifteen seconds later, a second wizard appeared, taking her Death Eater off their hands. "I'll get back to you with everything I get from him. I promise."

"Ready?" Susan asked as soon as the wizard disappeared.

Fleur couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "How good is your Apparition?"

"My aunt paid the Ministry workers to teach us a week after the Ministry fell. We've Apparated ever since."

"I'd guess so," Fleur answered, remembering the stories about how they'd appear and disappear all over the UK. "Alright, let's go. I guess Cho can take Gabby."

The Asian witch turned to her sister. "You know to hold tight, right?"

Fleur snorted. "I wouldn't worry about her, didn't you hear the song? _She rides._"

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

They landed in the Forbidden Forest.

Harry crushed his fist against the Death Eater's jaw, drew back, and struck again before realizing the wizard couldn't care less about him.

The sounds of snapping tree limbs and feet pounding against ground reached his ears, and before Harry could react, the Death Eater fled, hurdling half-seen obstacles in the faint moonlight.

Maybe rumors of Death Eaters fearing the Forbidden Forest _were_ accurate. Harry settled himself against a rock and questioned why he blindly walked into tonight's trap.

He couldn't shake the feeling they had an inside track luring him, like Voldemort feeding images through their Horcrux link. Not that it had betrayed him, rather, it reminded Harry of Dudley's old two-way radio, but without a power switch.

An inhuman scream, followed by a loud thump, signaled the Death Eater's final moment.

Maybe, assessing tonight's mistakes sitting in the Forbidden Forest wasn't his best idea.

Limbs snapped again. Whatever hunted Death Eaters here was big, fast, and coming for him, and Harry decided he'd pushed his luck enough tonight.

Dark, uneven forest floors created treacherous conditions, and he considered casting a _Lumos _Spell, but broadcasting his whereabouts wasn't smart. So with great care, he picked his way around rock outcroppings, through dense copses of trees, and under low-hanging branches until he tripped and landed face-first against another stone and bloodying his nose.

Dizzy, he rose and pushed forward, the sound of snapping limbs growing closer.

He broke into a clearing, but half way across, two bluish white beams lit the night so bright Harry jerked backward and his feet slipped from under him, dropping him once more on the forest floor, fifteen feet away from a roaring, gasping . . . engine?

He shielded his eyes. It couldn't be! But another rev dismissed any doubt. It was the Ford Anglia. "Hey, old girl. It's me, Harry!" He tried to push from the ground, but the car hit first gear and shot toward him, stopping inches away with another rev that sounded more like a growl. "Alright, alright, I won't move. I—"

Behind him, more branches snapped, and then he felt hot breath steaming air with a different growl—natural, menacing; a warning he was seconds from death.

Harry moved a leg, hoping resituate himself if he had to move fast, but the beast's growl deepened. On Harry's other side, the Anglia backed off, disappearing into the forest.

He regripped his wand, hoping he was fast enough cursing whatever beast stood over him, but branches snapped behind the beast, followed by the last voice he ever thought he'd hear.

"Move, Fang, yeh overgrown pest! Lemme see what yeh caught!" And then, a half giant bent over him, eclipsing the moon.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Ollivander's Wand Shop equaled luxury compared to Neville's safe house. Plywood, clasping rotted frames, covered broken windows and general deterioration seemed a neighborhood event. Inside, water-stained plasterboard beset with three bedroom doors surrounded broken, sitting room furniture, and a table, stove, and counters decorating a small kitchen opposite them provided slight hope of better meals. A hall ran off to their right.

At least it was warm and smelled clean.

"It's not much," Susan said. "But it's home."

A memory of Fleur's king-sized bed trickled through her thoughts, followed by a humbling conversation with a red-haired matriarch a year-and-a-half ago. "It's perfect."

Gabrielle's eyebrows disappeared under her hood, but she kept silent.

Neville nodded toward the closest door. "Take the empty bedroom next to Cho and Susan, they'll settle you."

And with that, he and Susan left through the hall.

"Let's get you settled." Cho led them into a cramped bedroom with gray concrete peeking through sections of shag carpet. In a corner lay a twin-sized mattress and the far wall, Fleur noted, held an unbroken windowpane.

Susan reappeared. "Clean sheets," she announced, laying them on the bed. "The stove works and we have running water, so it's not all a loss."

But Fleur couldn't answer. Seeing Cho and Susan again transported her to the Burrow the day they visited, sharing Harry stories in an upstairs bedroom.

Gabrielle's hand slid into hers. "Are you okay?"

A sigh. Her eyes drifted toward Cho and Susan. "Over a year and a half . . ."

They nodded, communicating through watery gazes as Fleur sensed pain too tender for words.

"So, what do we do now?" Gabby asked when the moment passed.

Her voice pushed another memory forward. Sweet baby sister—dancing, prancing, stripping, playfully swatting her derrière.

Fleur replicated it.

"Ow!" Gabby chirruped. "What was that for?"

"I should curse you within an inch of your life. Stripping? What the Green Goblin were you thinking?"

"Maybe we should step out," Cho suggested.

"Yeah," Susan answered. "See you two, tomorrow." The door shut behind them, almost—a half-inch overlap existed between it and the frame.

Fleur snatched the sheets from the bed. "Help me with these."

Gabrielle crossed her arms. "It worked, so why are you mad?"

Fleur stopped, the bedding fallen from her hand. "You don't? I said, 'be careful.' Instead, you climbed on stage and swung your rear for hundreds of gawking, sex-addicted pigs. Did it ever occur what might happen if they thought you were _too _tempting? Death Eaters were in that club, Gabby. They rape woman—Vulgaire, witches, or Veela, it doesn't matter."

She lifted a worn but clean sheet and snapped it straight. "There are more dangers than dark magic, and the wounds they cause aren't magically healed, either."

"I get that," her sister answered. "But, the night you returned from the Zekānōt—"

"—And almost became my slave."

"I did not!"

And then, despite the serious conversation, Fleur couldn't resist. "Did too!"

Gabrielle whipped a pillow at Fleur. "Shut up and let me explain!"

She dodged, but caught the pillow and dropped it on the mattress. "Fine, go ahead."

"You said I had to obey. And, I have."

"Like getting out of bed in the morning?"

"That's not what I meant. When we're out, searching for Harry, I listen, even if I disagree, I listen."

"So that excuses tonight?" Fleur asked.

"No, but it might give you pause to ask _why _I disobeyed."

Fleur opened her mouth, closed it, then rethought her words and instead, sat on the mattress. "So tell me."

Gabby dropped next to her. "I walked toward the exit like you said, but, after checking if you were okay, I realized we'd never see him in that crowd. Then, I also noticed eyes following you and it frightened me.

"So I hurried toward the door, but overheard someone say they were running short on dancers. He worried something would happen if they closed early with what they charged. Then, I thought, if I went on stage, I'd draw everyone's attention, see every face, and those humongous guys would protect us after—"

"They're called _Bouncers. _And, if they _were_ protecting you, why did you exit alone?" Fleur asked.

"I said I'd be okay, and I would scream my head off if anyone attacked."

"And it worked?"

Gabby blushed. "I also kissed the head guy on the cheek and promised to be a good girl."

"I'm sure that's what he wanted . . . I guess," she continued after thinking a few seconds. "I guess I understand. I don't like it, but . . ."

"But I didn't show them anything. My bathing suit covers less than my bra."

"True, but you could have thought about me, at least."

A crinkle of flesh appeared between Gabrielle's eyes.

"I watched my baby sister saunter across a stage flaunting her cute little ass, not to mention stripping! If Maman ever hears . . . or 'Arry!"

Her eyes grew comically wide. "You better not!"

Fleur shot her a devious smile. "I wonder, _Veillée _Princess, where did you learn to pole-dance? You were nervous at first, but there's no way you've never pole-danced before tonight."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. "Blame your cousin—my roommate."

"Danielle?"

"She claimed it was a great workout and stuck a pole in our room. I had no idea strippers pole-danced until tonight."

"I'm sorry you had to learn, but thank you, again. That's twice today, you saved me."

Gabby burrowed under Fleur's arm. "You're my sister," she said, as if it explained everything.

And it did. Fleur pulled her tight against her chest and kissed the top of her head. "As much as I hate to admit it, you looked like a goddess, and that was before you smacked your bum and flung out a taste of Veela magic."

"Yeah, that may have been a touch overboard," Gabrielle admitted.

Fleur laughed. "You think? Come on, help me with the comforter."

Once finished, they left the bedroom, but Fleur noticed a pressure change crossing the threshold and glanced at the doorframe.

"Silencing Charm," Neville said, standing in the kitchen. He shelved a cup before leaning against the counter. "Susan and Cho charmed the room when they left, said you were having 'a sisterly discussion' and needed privacy."

"That was nice, where did they go?"

"Bed, they had a long day."

"And you?"

Neville shook his head. "Madame Bones helped raid a Death Eater home last night and was injured. She's fine, now, but Susan heard around five a.m. Cho and her Disapparated ten minutes later and didn't return until we set out for the Death Eater you captured. Speaking of which, how did you track him to a strip club in Liverpool?"

Fleur, with Gabrielle's help, spent the next three hours explaining Veela magic, their own mission, and finally, most of their day to him.

"Parkinson and Greengrass—Interesting." Neville scratched a scar on his neck. "You're sure you killed that little bitch."

His venom surprised her. "A Killing Curse, square in her chest. Why, what did she . . ." Her empathic senses kicked in. "Su?"

Muscles lining Neville's jaw hardened. "She watched us enter St. Mungo's by a side-door an Order member left open. Twenty minutes later, Bellatrix attacked. They staged a battle, then followed the wounded . . ."

Heart-wrench misery and loss poured off him, clenching Fleur's heart, and she wondered if Harry had suffered at Durmstrang the same way. No wonder his Veela-chicks showered him with loving attention.

It made her grateful as well. God, had she ever changed!

Fleur took his hand. "We can sense emotions, I feel how her death hurts—" And then, a different emotion peeked through. Fleur focused harder, waiting for it to reappear.

Neville shifted. "Um, not that I, too much—that is, I do, um, but . . . ?"

She cocked her head and pursed her lips, having already witnessed a similar scene in Azzurra's memory with Harry. "But, what?"

"You. Hand. Mine," he managed.

Fleur giggled.

And behind Neville, Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"Are you wondering why I'm holding your hand when 'Arry is my intended?" she asked.

He grunted his answer, and, sensing his feelings of betrayal, she dropped her playful Veela act. A shame, really, she thought, not only was it fun, but she better understood why Harry's Veela-chicks used it to whittle at his defenses.

"At Durmstrang, three Veela held his hand everywhere he went, two of whom were engaged. It's who we are."

Neville blinked, then blinked again. "Um, okay?"

She smiled. "A beautiful Italian Veela waltzed into his dorm room, teasing him the minute they met. Two others followed, and hand-in-hand, they gave him a full tour of Durmstrang."

"Why?"

"They're Veela. They sensed his sorrow, his pain, and decided to help."

Neville looked at his hands, then at Fleur. "And you?"

"Only if you want it." But then, she felt his hidden emotion again. Betrayal. Guilt. Why . . . ? she wondered.

Behind him, Gabrielle blinked a few times, her lip firmly caught between her teeth. Tonight, she was learning harsh lessons about suffering in ways she never imagined. Fleur watched Gabby take Neville's other hand in both of hers.

Neville glanced at it, then pulled back, and guilt and betrayal exploded within him, followed by something else . . .

Desire.

And then, she understood.

He was _just _like Harry.

Fleur leaned into him, kissed him on the cheek, then stood. "You're not betraying her," she said, and disappeared into her room.

When the door closed, Gabrielle cleared her throat. "Neville?"

He didn't answer.

She wrapped her arms around her knees. "It's my fault, isn't it?"

"No, I mean, it's you, but it's not . . ." He closed his eyes.

"It's okay," she said. "It was me, completely. Fleur almost died today, so when I came out and found my sister facing you three, I attacked. I know what you saw, and I didn't mean for you to, suffer, that way."

A crimson blush colored his cheeks, draining into their hollow and highlighting a striking jawline. "You . . . _pushed _those images into my head? It wasn't just a typical wizard response to Veela?"

Gabby let the corner of her lip rise. "We've sat together three and a half hours without, um, a . . . a repeat—" She blushed a similar color.

And his deepened as he mumbled something she thought sounded like _not quite_, before taking a deep breath. "I guess not, but it still feels like I've cheated Su's memory."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to cause you pain."

Neville shook his head, then somehow, pulled himself upright and pushed away his embarrassment. "No. Never apologize for protecting your family. We're in a war, and if you hesitate, you're dead."

"I learned that lesson earlier, too," she answered. "But I'm still sorry I made you suffer. She must have been special."

"She was."

Gabrielle pushed her fingertips across his hand, then took it again. "And she was lucky to have you as well." She rose, leaned forward, and kissed him on the other cheek. "Good night, Neville."

He met her eyes and she found herself looking not at Chaos, but at a sixteen-year-old wizard gracing her with a shy smile. And, she admitted, it was a cute smile, too.


	25. Pained Knowledge

.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Pained Knowledge**

Crackling wood and sizzling grease pulled Harry from his slumber. He pushed a carpet-sized comforter off and stretched, then looked around the sparse cave where he'd slept. A rock doubled for a workbench and broken chairs lined the far wall. In the middle, flames leapt from a fire pit where Hagrid cooked, his back to the cave's mouth. Beyond him, big, fluffy flakes deepened the Forbidden Forest's cotton blanket.

Hagrid speared a few sausage links and slid them on a plate, then handed it to Harry. "Hope yeh like 'em, tha's all I got for breakfast."

"Some things never change." He chuckled at Hagrid scratching his temple in confusion. "You cooked these for my eleventh birthday."

The half-giant's face lit up. "Bes' day of me life. Though, my wandwork ended a bit spotty on yehr oaf of a cousin'. I was goin' fer the whole pig."

They reminisced through breakfast, beginning with their time in Diagon Alley and working their way through four years of memories and mishaps at Hogwarts. Morning merged into midday when Harry asked, "What happened during the last task of the tournament?"

Hagrid's chest puffed out. "Dumbledore ask me ta walk a side 'o the maze and help you lot if yeh called. He was a great man, never cared what others thought 'bout me, but . . .

"Maybe he shoulda cared." He deflated. "I was useless when they attacked. I didn't know wha' ta do, so I jus' stood there, watching the maze fall. I'm no good with me wand—"

A screech interrupted Hagrid's story, and he rose, racing from the cave without explanation. Fang joined him, barking and snarling, and they disappeared together into the forest.

Without a second's hesitation, Harry followed. His palms grew wet and he became acutely aware of his surroundings as he jogged along a well-worn path. Voldemort's Horcrux hummed inside his head and his own soul found a synchronous note, both excited at the prospect of another kill.

Around a knoll and down an incline, then up over a hill he continued until he eyed Hagrid, who stood in a small opening facing a black-robbed witch. Her frightened voice screeched a curse that bounced off his shoulder.

He picked her up by the front of her robes, grabbed her ankles, and swung. Her head collided with a tree-trunk and her body went limp.

"You're making short work of them," a voice said.

Harry spun, and found a wizard brushing off his trousers.

"Charlie?"

"Harry!" Charlie closed the distance and momentarily threw an arm around his shoulder. "Merlin, I'm happy seeing you again. Never thanked you for rescuing me."

"You don't need to."

Charlie stepped back. "Maybe not, but thanks, anyway."

"Did everyone else make it?" Harry asked.

A sad shake of the head answered him. "Two others died a few days later, and a third—another witch—killed herself, unable to cope with what they had done to her."

A muffled noise caught their attention. Harry back looked over his shoulder at Hagrid, kneeling by an unmasked Death Eater.

"Jus' a young-un," Hagrid managed. He took out a handkerchief the size of a tea-towel and blew his nose, causing a horrible honking sound that rattled Harry's ears.

The witch, he noticed, was a year or two older than he was.

Charlie laid a hand on Hagrid's shoulder. "That 'young-un' killed three wizards and over fifteen Muggles—all men."

"That many?" Harry asked. "Any idea why?"

"Learning how they govern, most likely. Her victims all worked in their government."

"Why would she want to know that?"

Charlie shrugged. "Can't say."

Behind them, Hagrid blew his nose again, then produced a ridiculously small-looking shovel in his hands. With a tender touch, he scooped the body into his arms and disappeared into the forest.

Harry started behind him, but Charlie grabbed his shoulder. "Let him be alone. He eases his guilt by giving them a proper burial."

"Everyone he kills?"

"No, Acromantulas'll feed upon most, but after so many years at Hogwarts, I think something inside him can't accept teenagers deserving death."

Harry snorted. "It's not that hard to believe."

"You've seen a lot more than he has despite his involvement in both wars."

"How's that?"

Charlie hesitated, then pulled Harry a few steps further along the path. "Dumbledore sheltered him. Your father and his friends helped. Look, Hagrid doesn't have the emotional depth of a typical wizard; he's about the same as a naive fourteen-year-old, and nothing'll change that. Overexpose him, and he'll be crushed, or worse."

"But Madame Maxime was a half-giant, and she seemed all right."

"True," Charlie answered. "But her parents were also half-giants, which better settled her nature. Still, I heard rumors of a fight she had with Hagrid at the Yule-ball."

"I saw that. She stormed off just as Fleur and her date poked their heads out from their hiding place in the rose garden. But it didn't seem that different from any other couple fighting."

Charlie shrugged. "Couldn't tell you. I hope you're not reminding Fleur of that night. I'd hate to think what she'd do to you!"

A lightning bolt of pain shot through him hearing her name, but he had plenty experience burying his feelings. "My best friend was a Weasley. What do you think?"

Charlie laughed, then changed subjects. "I wonder where that witch was from."

"What do you mean?"

"Her accent. It almost sounded American, but she had a strange way of drawing out her words."

"I've had a few run-ins with foreign Death Eaters. Maybe they're still recruiting from prisons?"

"Don't know, but this witch was refined, upper crust of society type. We're getting a lot of those over here now."

"What's a lot?" Harry asked.

"Rumors run in the hundreds, if not a few thousand. Not all of them are high-class, but they are people who live in society without causing a stir."

"What would Voldemort want with them? And why here?"

Before Charlie could answer, however, Hagrid emerged from a curtain of trees, covered with dirt and wiping at his eyes.

"Ready?" asked Harry.

Hagrid nodded, cleared his throat, and then cupped his hands around his mouth. "Fang! Stop yeh're smellin' and get over here!"

A few seconds later, Fang bounded toward them, his tongue lolling to one side and clumps of snow stuck in his fur, bouncing in stride. How this dog scared Harry the previous evening, he had no idea.

Back in the cave, Hagrid bounced between sorrow and anger, with pity thrown in for good measure. Maybe Charlie was right, he thought. Hagrid's attachment to Norberta was odd, as was his dependence on Harry, Ron, and Hermione when he became a teacher.

But, he certainly was wrong about winding up Fleur. Dangerous? Sure, and enjoyable. He'd wind her up every day if . . . "Charlie? You do realize Fleur died this spring?"

"Then she was doing a hell of a job as an _Inferi _this morning when—"

Harry reacted instantly, and a spell crashed into Charlie, trapping him against the floor.

"She's dead! I thought you Death Eaters were smart enough to know that, at least!"

"Wha— Harry! It's me! Charlie!"

"Liar! I told Charlie she was dead, and don't bother telling me she isn't! I watched healers cover her with a sheet and pronounce her!" His wand circled in the air, his _Acidum Sanguinem _Curse on his lips.

"Harry! Please!"

"Harry!" Hagrid bellowed. "Wha' are yeh doin'?"

"This bastard's impersonating Charlie."

"I'm me, I promise! Ask anything!"

Harry glared at him. "Fine! But first wrong answer, I'm turning your blood into acid—you offered me something downstairs in France. Tell me."

"The Burrow."

. . . How did he know that?

"Who did I threaten at Christmas?"

"I, I can't remember his name, but he was Gabrielle's date."

"And when you arrived after Hogwarts was attacked, what happened?"

"You jumped me." Charlie tried shifting, but Harry's Binding Spell held him tight. "I stepped from the floo and you leaped on my back and rode me to the ground. You apologized, but I said not to, that you're better being cautious. Then, you, Sirius, and Tonks took the mick out of me before I spent two hours consoling my mum. Now, damn it, let me up!"

There was a certain glint in a Weasley eye when one of them grew dangerously mad or stubborn—or stupid. He'd seen it in all four youngest siblings more than once, and he was seeing it again, here. No amount of Polyjuice could fake it.

But if this was Charlie, then Fleur . . .

"Harry?" Hagrid said again. "He tol' me all 'bout Norberta already."

Harry waved his wand and canceled the spell. "Where is she?"

"Who?" Charlie asked. "Fleur or Norberta?"

"Whoever's polyjuiced as Fleur."

"No one's polyjuiced, it's her, and Gabrielle's there, too. They're staying with Neville and the others."

Harry's world tipped on edge. Watching her Healer pull that sheet over her head was his single worst moment of his life. Everything good in Harry died that day. If she were alive . . .

"How?" he asked.

"She said her Healers never recognized her as Veela. So when her magic pushed her into hibernation, they thought she'd died."

"Torpor," Hagrid offered into the following silence. "Not hibernation."

Both wizards stared at him.

"Hippogriffs suffer the same way durin' winter if they're not fed. I thought Buckbeak died the year o' that nasty Slytherin's Heir business. I couldn' get out ta see him of'en enough."

Hope surged, but where he once held joy and happiness, only darkness dwelt; one consumed by a wicked longing to spill blood and take revenge. Fleur might be alive, but in an ironic twist, he realized, Harry Potter was dead.

_A beautiful thing, too_, the Horcrux reminded him. _Who needs love? A weak, pathetic idea, once believed by a weak, pathetic man like Dumbledore. He could have been powerful, but he wasted it! All because he believed love was greater than the Dark Arts. He was a damned fool._

But Harry caught something underlying each word—fear. He could feel it, sense Voldemort's Horcrux fighting him, dragging him towards darkness. How much of his last few months were him, and how much was quietly driven by the Horcrux?

The thought scared him, and reminded him again, it was time to rid himself of it. Last night, he lay awake, pondering how, wondering if death was his only escape. Then, in a moment equal parts outright brilliance and sheer evil, he found his answer. He might also lose himself in the process—how often had he said that before?—but the hope of holding her again, tasting her lips, feeling her warm breath trickling across his cheek and hearing her heart beat, it was worth the risk. Then again, she might also reject him for what he'd grown into in her absence.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Twelve." Neville poured a cup of tea for Fleur as she joined him, Susan, and Cho at the table. "That's how many died when Ollivander's Wand Shop went up."

"Ignore Neville," Cho said. "He has a single-track mind and somehow forgets normal wizarding pleasantries—like 'Good morning.'"

"Hey, I made a cuppa for her, before breakfast even."

"Yeah," Susan answered. "So how do you know what she fancies for breakfast? Watched her a wee bit at Hogwarts, did we?"

Neville's complexion darkened a few shades. "Maybe I should mention a stack of letters I found addressed to Harry at your Aunts?"

"You're an ass, I was ten when I wrote those."

Neville poured a cup for himself and sat. "Including the letter from third year?"

Susan leaned towards Fleur. "Ignore him, we're still training him on properly using the loo. Always being reminded about lifting the seat makes him cranky."

Rather than getting involved, Fleur sipped her tea, then changed to a safer subject. "So, twelve?"

"According to the Order," Neville said. "Ollivander's shop and three or four others were destroyed as well—they were abandoned, we think."

"They were," Fleur agreed. "Which is why I overpowered our Protection Spells a little. Better too much, than not enough."

Behind her, Gabrielle stepped out of their bedroom and took a seat next to her. "A little? I think you charred my tail feathers."

"Keep it up and I'll pluck every last one."

Gabrielle giggled, and Fleur barely stopped her eye-roll in time as she watched her little sister, perched with her legs crossed and hands folded in her lap; a demure princess she was, except for that coy smile when Neville served her coffee.

"Thank you," she intoned.

"Decaffeinated, I hope." Fleur chuckled at prim and proper Gabrielle. Those weren't words often associated with her sister. Then again, s_hy_ wasn't either, at least not anymore.

"Sleep well?" Cho asked.

"I did," Gabby answered "I also wanted to apologize again. If I had known who you all were, there's no way I'd have attacked last night."

"Speaking of which, what happened?" asked Cho. "I've never seen someone that helpless without casting so much as a Tickling Charm."

"We can protect ourselves in several ways," answered Fleur, "including pushing images into a wizard's mind."

"Images?" Susan looked back and forth between both Veela. "What, images?"

"Remember what you saw on stage?" Fleur asked. "Depending on our strength and how hard we push, it may have been the opening scene to Neville's wildest dreams"

A gurgle escaped Neville's throat.

A wide-eyed Cho asked,"Gabrielle . . . um, so, how much magic _did _you throw at him?"

"All I had," a now timid Gabby answered.

"And she's very powerful," Fleur added.

"That's why his hips were bucking!" Susan said, putting together the pieces. "You made him—"

"That's enough." Neville leaned back in his chair. "She apologized and I accepted. Let's move on."

"No," Susan said. She turned to Gabrielle, "You molested him with your magic!"

"I wouldn't say that—"

"You hijacked a wizard's desires and caused him to orgasm in the middle of a street! What would you call that?"

Timid Gabby vanished, giving way for Pissed-Off Veela Gabrielle. She slammed a palm against the table. "I was saving my sister's life. So if you don't like it, then, then . . . Fuck off!"

Fleur's eyes bulged. "Gabby!"

"What! You're my sister. I'm not letting you die. Like I said, she can—"

"I KNOW!" Fleur interrupted. "I heard!"

"And I agree," Neville said. "If I had a sister and the ability, I'd do the same. Speaking of which, Susan, if you could have saved Tracy in Newquay—"

Susan glared at him. "That's different!"

"Different? We all were just becoming friends, but Fleur is Gabrielle's _sister_."

Fleur listened as they continued arguing, and noted an underlying tightness in Susan's visage often associated with hurt, so she let loose her empathetic senses. A wave of manufactured revulsion overwhelmed her, but she pushed through, finding a plethora of secondary, honest feelings surrounding a protective core. Odd, she thought. She expected envy, jealousy, and feelings driven by Susan's own want toward Neville, but what she found instead was much deeper. The young witch mourned for him, for what he'd become and for all his endured losses. She loved him more than words could express, not a romantic, but similar to what she felt between Harry and Markus the night after they fought together in Bremen—a love born of blood, a brotherhood earned in battle. Susan would be at his side, protecting him in this war until she lay dead at his feet.

And _that_, a Veela understood.

"Susan?"

The witch shot her a fiery gaze.

"Veela are empaths. I sense what you're feeling; your concern and love for Neville—no, not that kind, but rather, love had between people who put their lives in each other's hands, who war together against enemies. I sensed it between Harry and a friend after they fought Death Eaters in Germany."

"He what?" Cho asked, re-entering the conversation.

"Later," Fleur said before continuing. "That bond is almost unbreakable, but it's nothing compared to Veela. I can't explain how, but Gabrielle and I have a magical and biological mandate that commands we defend each other, and the rest of our flock as well. And, since not all our magic is available, we compensate."

"So, she had an excuse?" Susan asked.

"No," Fleur's eyes narrowed. "I'm saying we're all lucky she gave him an overdose of lust, rather than killing him outright."

Susan opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

"I don't enjoy it, either, which is why I apologized again," Gabrielle added. "There's enough people telling stories of Veela whores. I need not add another chapter."

"I never meant it like that."

Gabrielle huffed her disagreement.

"If you don't believe me, that's your problem. But around here, Death Eaters threaten, molest, even rape women, Muggle or Witch—hell, men too. Then, here you come, attacking Neville, driving him so insane he collapses and orgasms uncontrollably. So excuse me if I find it too bloody similar."

Letting go of Gabrielle's knee, Fleur balled her fists under the table to control her anger. Protecting Neville was fine, but comparing her sister with Death Eaters . . .

Gabrielle, however, didn't give her the chance. "You obviously missed where I was pushing images _in self-defense_? We've seen Death Eaters, too. And they molest and rape because they can, because they thrive off the control and terror it causes. If you can't see the difference between the two, I'll conjure you a compass and a pair of glasses so you can find your own ass since everything else seems beyond you!"

Fleur bit both lips, and she noted Cho, sitting across from her, remaining stoic, except for a twitch pulling at her left cheek.

"I also noticed you didn't answer Neville's question," Gabby continued. "So tell me, what if you could have saved your friend, whatever her name was—with my magic? Would you?"

"Tracey," Neville said, but his words stuck in his throat and a wave of emotion rolled over Fleur.

Susan pointed at Gabby. "Don't you dare!"

"But Neville—"

"Neville was there. You weren't."

"Gabrielle," Neville interrupted while gently pushing Susan's arm down, "what happened to Tracey is a sore subject." He turned to Susan. "But she's right. If I could reverse that night . . ."

"Me, too," Cho added, her humor having disappeared. "If given a chance, I'd return with Gabrielle and help Tracey faster than single twist of a Time-turner."

"That's because you feel guilty for something that's not your fault."

"That doesn't change the point. If you could go back with Fleur or Gabrielle, would you? Would you rather see them knock out every wizard there so we could save Tracy?"

Susan shook her head. "I . . . , if we act like Death Eaters, overriding their own bodies, how different are we?"

Neville coughed. "Um, you're pretty spectacular at it as well."

"Me? I can't force a wizard—"

"The _Imperius_ Curse," he interrupted.

"That's . . . I'm not . . ." Susan slumped in her seat and an awkward pause followed until Gabrielle finally broke the ensuing silence.

"I'm not sure if this helps, but our laws restrict using our magic that way. Outside self-defense, I'd be in a lot of trouble."

Susan rubbed at her forehead. "That's something, at least. So, was it your first time?"

Gabby took a shaky breath. "No. Yesterday afternoon, a Killing Curse missed Fleur by an inch. If I had hesitated, she'd be dead."

"No wonder you were so quick hitting Neville last night. Look, despite our argument, I understand protecting family. Trust me."

"Yeah, well, I pushed it at all three of you; imagine my surprise when just one of you fell."

Cho tilted her head and the skin between her eyes crinkled. "What happened?"

"Veela magic affects only males," Fleur explained.

"Really?" Cho chewed on her lip in thought. "From what I remember, magic doesn't distinguish between gender. Why is yours so different?"

Fleur explained why, which turned into a lesson on all things Veela, including how their magic played off hormones. She even confessed what happened with Harry in the cave and how she chased away his demons as he slept, along with the differences between that and what Gabrielle had done.

"So," Susan began an hour later, "why not whack Voldemort with your magic when you had the chance? You could have killed him while he fantasized about Malfoy's arse."

"Changed your mind, have we?" asked Neville.

"No, but if what she's saying is true, there's no reason she couldn't have."

"You're right," Fleur agreed. "But my magic wouldn't have worked on him."

"Why not?" asked Susan.

"Three types of wizards ignore Veela magic: very old wizards who've lost their sex drive; wizards so focused they've repressed normal biological wants; and those who spend time with us and focus on fighting off the effects."

"And Voldemort is nothing if not driven," Neville added, connecting the dots.

"Exactly. So, Susan, may we move past this?"

Susan took a deep breath. "I'm still uncomfortable—I understand helping someone, like with Harry. But attacking people . . . seems wrong."

"Even protecting your own sister?" asked Neville.

"Yes . . . no . . . I'm not sure." She leaned forward, across from Gabrielle. "I guess, if I believed my sister was being killed before my eyes, I too would've done everything I could to stop it. But, I'd feel a whole lot better if you didn't, at least while you're here. It's getting hard to tell the difference between what we're doing and what Death Eaters are doing already. I don't know if I could handle blurring the lines any more."

"So, you resembling Death Eaters in all you do is fine, but one similarity turns me into a monster with a mask?" asked Gabrielle.

"That's not what she said," Neville answered. He kept his voice level and kind. "We're doing so much now that reminds her of how they act that anything more makes it even harder to distinguish, right Susan?"

She nodded. "And, when you put it that way, Gabrielle, I realize I'm being selfish, but after hearing what happened to Tracey, I can't help it."

Neville filled them in on the story, horrifying Gabrielle.

"They did that to her for how long?"

"Months," Neville answered. "All because she wouldn't give up Marcus's location."

A grimace touched her lips. "I won't use my magic like I did unless I have no other choice, but if it's between them or Fleur dying, all bets are off."

Fleur laid a kiss against her head. "I knew you loved me."

"Don't push it," She answered, to everyone's amusement.

Neville stood and dropped his cup into the sink. "Moving on, Fleur's Death Eater informed us there's a back-alley get-together in Bristol tonight. Marcus, Ollie, and I figured we should pay them a visit. Anyone interested in coming along?"

"As if we'd say no," Cho said.

"Is this an open invitation?" Fleur asked.

"Sure."

"Then I'll go as well."

"Me, too—" Gabrielle started, but Neville interrupted before she could finish.

"No. We're not there to talk to them. We might capture a few and hand them over to others; find out what they know. But we're not going—"

It was Gabrielle's turn to cut him off. "You don't think I realize that?"

Neville looked at Fleur. "Are you okay with her going?"

Fleur shrugged. "No. But I don't get to choose. She's of age, remember?"

Neville's discomfort played out in his narrowed eyes and tapping pinky finger. "Can you defend yourself—outside your Veela magic?" he asked Gabrielle.

"Let's go out back and see?" she challenged.

"There's no need for that," Fleur said. "If Gabrielle wasn't able, I wouldn't have brought her with me. And, I've seen this hen at work. Trust me, who knows what she'd do to you the next time."

Fleur barely got her instep out the way before Gabrielle stomped it with her boot heel.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Apolline, are you in here?"

Apolline excused herself from Maryse and Anastasie and approached the badly lit entrance to the smaller sitting room.

"Hello, Philippe, I'm glad you made our Christmas party, is your wife—"

"No," he interrupted. "I need to speak with you and Jacque, where is he?"

Her eyebrows pulled together. He wasn't a rude man, so whatever this was about . . . She pointed at the ceiling "He's entertaining guests by the upstairs fireplace."

"I'll get him and we'll meet across the hall." He turned to leave, but Apolline grabbed his arm.

"You're scaring me, what's going on?"

Philippe shook his head, then looked beyond her into the room. "Who's the highest Flock Leader here?"

"Anastasie," she answered. "At least for my flock, but we have a guest who's higher than her."

"Bring them both—and any others as well." He pulled from her grasp and shot upstairs.

People seldom used _Philippe _and _drama _in the same sentence, she remembered. A weight settled in her stomach.

"Who was that; is everything okay?"

She spun on her heel and found two of her more distant relatives, one on each side. They were sisters and almost identical, although the one on her left was a hair taller, and both full Veela. Having sensed something, they'd surreptitiously drawn their wands.

"Deputy Minister of Security—Foreign affairs for Magical France," she answered. "And my husband's best friend. Find my mother. Tell her and her Zekānōt friend to meet us in the larger sitting room across the hall."

Even in her own house, it was unusual for a part-Veela to bark orders at a full-Veela, and they hesitated a brief instant before agreeing. "I think she's upstairs," the taller one answered. I'll get her." And she was off.

"Anyone else you need?" the other one asked.

"Anastasie and Maryse," she answered. She also thought about inviting her sisters, but decided against it. If it were important enough, she'd tell them later. Why ruin their night? "Oh, and when Angelica returns, please apologize to her for me, I didn't mean to give her orders."

Deifilia, fifteen years younger than Apolline, clucked her tongue. "Yes, you did, and don't worry about it. Our magic still recognizes the Guillory line. But thanks for playing along."

"Impertinent child."

The younger Veela winked, then guided her out of the room. "Go, I'll get Auntie and Maryse."

Apolline crossed into the large, open area and with a few waves of her wand, arranged the chairs around the fireplace.

"Froissé́!"

The harried elf appeared, bursting with pride. "Madame's party being the bestest! Froissé be getting many compliments from other Elves come to watch."

Elves came to watch? —Apolline forced herself not to get sidetracked. "Minister Philippe is here, and he looks as if he hasn't eaten tonight. Can you make sure he gets something from upstairs? Bring it down here so he can eat while he talks."

A disappearing House-elf was her answer.

Anastasie joined her. "Deifilia said you needed to see me? I assume it has something to do with the Minister speaking to you in the hall?"

"Philippe requested Flock Leaders be here. So Sammit'll or whatever she's called will be here, too, and my mother. I hope you don't mind."

"I don't. Samrawit is poised to sit Third Seat on the dais, and Anne-Marie is a good advisor."

Third Seat? Apolline pondered what the fourth most powerful Veela in all the Zekānōt and a disgraced Flock Leader were doing together. Ever since Anne-Marie—Maman to Apolline—involved herself in Veela affairs again, an entire new level of intrigue existed everywhere she went.

Apolline relaxed next to the large fireplace and waited until her husband and the others joined them a minute or two later.

Philippe took the spot she vacated when she sat on the couch, his back to the fire. "I'm sorry to draw you away from your party, Apolline, but I have something I wanted to tell you myself."

Apolline clutched at her throat. "Tell me my daughters are okay."

"As far as we know, they are, and we have no reason to think otherwise," Philippe said, easing her fear. "But I needed everyone here so . . . so . . . damn Security Spells!"

"Sunshine Rule?" Jacque asked.

"Of course, stupid laws."

Jacque took a quick count. "There's seven of us here and six of us are French."

"Good, Jacque and I count as two. So, we need two more to declare their loyalty to wizarding France rather than the Veela Nation for the duration of this meeting."

"That is most unusual," Samrawit replied.

"I would do it," Anastasie said, "but I feel you need to speak to us as Zekānōt, no?"

"You're right."

"Then Maryse is also out, and Samrawit isn't French," Anastasie continued. "So, Anne-Marie, Apolline, it looks like you're our designees."

With little choice in the matter, they both declared for the interests of France.

"What was that about?" Apolline asked once they finished.

"Wartime Secrecy Act," her husband answered. "Two members under oath and two more who are loyal to Magical France must be present when discussing sensitive information with foreign nationals."

"Spies work in secret; the truth, in light," Philippe added. "At least, that's the sunshine they shoved up our ass before making us take the oaths. It's a piss-poor law that hinders war-efforts when it goes into effect."

Froissé appeared in the middle of the group with a plate and a large glass of wine levitating next to her. Apolline took it and dismissed the elf with a kind word before handing it to Philippe. "Sit and eat."

And then, to both his and Apolline's surprise, Anastasie rose from her chair. "Take mine. I fear you have more need of it than I do. When was the last time you ate or slept?"

By the looks of it, a week ago, Apolline decided. The plate was already a third empty and he hadn't even made it to the offered seat yet. With a whispered command, she called Froissé again, then asked her to keep the food coming and afterward, make up the guest room.

"What time is it?" Philippe asked after swallowing another bite of his sandwich.

"Nine-thirty," Maryse answered.

"I've been going almost thirty-six hours. We broke for lunch around eleven this morning."

"Why didn't you . . ." Jacque trailed off.

"You left before we heard."

"Heard what?" Apolline asked.

Philippe moistened his lips with another sip of wine before launching into his story.

"We got word late last night of two separate events occurring on the island." _The island _had one meaning in wizarding France anymore. "The first one, we just learned, was an attack against mid-level Death Eaters. They intended it as a trap for a young man you know well, but he turned it on them, killing nine. Two escaped."

"That's good, but why is it so urgent we know now?" Maryse said.

He took another sip. "Something foreign and very dangerous attacked Masseur Potter, and it scared him terribly, we assume."

"How do you figure that?" Jacque asked.

"The only spell that can cause the damage he unleashed is Fiendfyre. And, it's seldom used, except in the most extreme circumstances."

Apolline gripped her husband's knee in fright. "Did it get away from him? Is he alive?"

"He's better than that, he's safe and for the first time, staying with someone he trusts. Our concern, however, is the creature he was cursing. It almost sounded like some kind of male anti-Veela—ugly, powerful as hell, and it came from the sky."

"How do you know all this?" Apolline asked.

"Sorry." He had the grace to look abashed, at least. "I can't tell you, except to say we have always kept back-channels of communication open with their—I guess they're considered dissident leaders, now. It's their former government, many of whom still hold their jobs in the current one."

"Ahem." Jacque gave Philippe a hard glare.

Philippe dismissed it with a wave of the hand. "We had ten people, all fresh out of Beauxbatons this year, look over information scrubbed of its sources and they figured out that much within the first few minutes. I'm not giving anything away." He gestured to all the witches in the circle. "And even if I were, there are three Flock Leaders present, which makes this a high-level briefing with the Veela nation. What I shared is normal background information in such instances."

Apolline felt Jacque shift in his chair, uneasy with the explanation, but he held his tongue, and she figured she knew why.

Philippe was right.

"So, anyone have any idea what this being might be?" Philippe asked.

"Are you sure it wasn't Voldemort?" Maryse said.

"I wondered that, too," Jacque agreed.

Philippe swallowed another bite of his meal. "Can't be, we know he was on the continent last night."

"In that case," Samrawit answered. "It sounds similar to a _Tik-tik_, but why would a Malaysian blood-creature travel to Britain?"

"A what?" Jacque asked.

"A blood creature; Tik-tik is the common name for _Manananggal. _Popular Philippine folklore says they're female vampires that separate themselves in half and go searching for young pregnant women to feed on."

"That's reassuring," Jacque muttered. "Please tell me it's just folklore.

Samrawit fixed her eyes on him. "We should be so lucky. In reality, they're asexual magical beings whose origins are lost to antiquity, but they consider themselves akin to demons, and their disposition doesn't allay that belief."

"And you believe it attacked 'Arry?" asked Apolline.

She shook her head. "I have no idea, and I've never heard of them leaving South East Asia, except for their Quidditch team."

Blink. "Quidditch?" Apolline asked.

"They're damn good, but like Veela, they're not bound to a Vulgaire state, so they don't have representation in the World Cup."

Philippe drained his wine. "Before we get sidetracked, any other ideas what these creatures might be?"

"No," Samrawit answered. "But if I'm right and they've joined forces with Britain's Dark Lord, then a darkness is descending over Britain that'll last millennia."

"That's a rather unpleasant thought," Apolline faced Philippe, "You said there were two events last night, what was the second?"

He let a small smile crawl across his lips. "A massive explosion shook Diagon Alley, killing over fifteen Death Eaters and destroying an entire block of buildings, but not all is substantiated yet."

"Well, that's good, I guess," Apolline said.

"More than good," Philippe countered. "An eye-witness recounted two witches staying at Ollivander's Wand Shop leaped from the second story as it exploded, and then—get this, turned themselves into large birds and landed blocks away."

"My girls!"

"That's what I thought," Philippe agreed. "Our source wouldn't confirm their identities, but we know the witches destroyed Ollivander's after Death Eaters invaded, and we also know they later met others associated with the Order and are now staying with them."

"The . . . the Order?" She turned to Jacque. "Is that what Fleur . . . ?"

He wrapped an arm around her. "It is."

She fought back tears as Maryse asked, "Why did you rush over here and pull us all away from the party upstairs? Something's not adding up."

Philippe dug the heels of both hands into tired eyes. "You're right. What I just told you helped the last pieces drop into place. Look, these are rough estimates, but from what we've been hearing, a good portion of Death Eaters killed last night were foreign, and that doesn't include that ticktock thing. We've also heard they're working their way into Muggle society and up into their government. Once we realized that, we called an emergency meeting with the Vulgaire ministries of France and Britain, which finished ten minutes before they dispatched me here."

"Dispatched . . . My God." Jacque closed his eyes. When he opened them, Apolline saw once again the man he had to become years ago. He took a slow, steady breath. "When?"

"We're in the preliminary stages, but since seven this evening, Magical and Vulgaire France is in secret alliance with Vulgaire Britain against their magical society. Make no mistake, we are officially at war."

Anastasie whistled. "Allied with Vulgaire governments against another magical government, it'll cause a firestorm in the ICW, even if they've declared bearers of the mark guilty in absentia."

"Which they have," Jacque reminded the gathering.

"Still," Philippe said, looking at the Franco-Celtic Flock Leader. "Anastasie's right, but, your Zekānōt will be worse."

"Why's that?" asked Apolline. The Zekānōt members, however, already seemed to know.

"It'll cause a firestorm, maybe even literally" Samrawit answered. "Did you know there'd be enough of us here tonight to form a delegation?"

"I hoped so, and you not being from the French flock allows it to be an official delegation, no?"

"It does," she agreed. "But we have no decision-making authority, we may receive official requests only. Why the urgency?"

"We think Death Eaters'll make their push sometime next summer or fall, and it'll take most of that time to get our supposed allies on board, let alone prepared."

"I see." She communicated with Anastasie with a single look, then confirmed their decision with Maryse.

"Make your request," Samrawit announced.

Philippe calmed himself. "The Magical Government of France believes its equivalent in Britain will expand this war to include Vulgaire Britain, violating multiple ICW laws. After battles throughout the continent, we also believe the coming attack is an opening move for control over both magical and Vulgaire governments across Europe. The French governments, along with the British Vulgaire government, therefore formally request the Zekānōt align with us against Magical Britain's current government—headed by Voldemort."

Samrawit, Anastasie, and Maryse stood; their ancient regal magic filling the room. And then, as a shiver slithered down Apolline's spine, she noticed her own mother standing behind the other Flock Leaders. Anne-Marie's magic flowed so powerfully it threatened to drown out all but the Nubian Veela.

"The Veela nation will duly consider your request. When do you require a response?" Samrawit asked.

"No later than June one. If there's anything good in this mess, it's the disdain they have for the Vulgaire world, disadvantaging themselves considerably. So, we suspect it'll be six months before they can overtake Vulgaire Britain without causing mass panic."

"I don't get it, wouldn't mass panic help them?" asked Apolline.

Philippe and Jacque answered in unison, "No." So, Philippe gestured for Jacque to explain.

"We've had a few wizards enter the Vulgaire armed forces. What they report is frightening. In a face-to-face fight, magic might always trump non-magic, but Vulgaire forces have people who can kill you with something smaller than a baby carrot from over a thousand yards, and that's the beginning of their ingenuity. I'd imagine if Voldemort is gathering people from all over the world, a few will have this knowledge, which is how they'll blend in and take over from the inside. At least that's the position the ministry came to a week ago, and nothing has changed since," Philippe said.

"A week?" Anastasie asked.

"We've known something was coming, but couldn't figure out what, so there's been people looking at a dozen or more scenarios. This was one of them."

Apolline opened her mouth to ask another question, but instead, felt Samrawit's Veela magic flow through her, ordering her to stay silent. It was a move seldom done in the Veela world, and that alone drove home the implications of this evening—soon, the Zekānōt would meet and decide if the nation would fight.

The meeting broke up just a few minutes later, and most of the participants headed back up the stairs.

Philippe, however, started down the steps to the front door.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked Apolline.

"Home."

"My feathered ass you are. You're so tired you'll be lucky if you don't splinch yourself, or worse."

"I'll be fine."

Apolline marched down the stairs and pushed the door shut, then took his hand and let out just enough Veela magic to soothe him. "You're staying here tonight. Froissé́ has already made up the spare bed. I'll floo your wife and let her know. She can come and stay as well, if she wants, but you _are not _traveling in your condition. Am I clear?"

"I'd listen if I were you," Jacque said from the top of the stairs. "And if it'd make you feel better, I'll escort your wife here myself if she decides."

Philippe relented and Apolline led him up the stairs to the guest bedroom, then called his wife over the floo and explained Philippe's condition.

"Thank you," she answered. "And I'm sorry for not making your party, but with Philippe working so much, I wanted to be home when he got here."

Apolline stepped through the floo and gathered her in a hug. "No apology necessary." Then she helped her gather a bag of clothes and personal items before returning.

"Everything settled?" Jacque asked twenty minutes later as Apolline put in another appearance on the top floor where the party was still going strong.

"She's downstairs, headed to bed. They both looked like hell, tonight."

Jacque snatched a pastry from a tray that floated by. "It will only get worse. We're either looking at the end of this war, or the beginning of a world war. Pray to all the gods in heaven it's the first."

"I am," she answered. "Every night."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"Are you sure about this?"

Gabrielle pulled her hair out from under the winter robes and buttoned it. "I'm not staying here alone wondering if any of you will make it back."

"You wouldn't be alone. Jaycinda'll be coming over in a few minutes."

She stopped fiddling with her coat and looked Neville in the eye. "Last time I met her, she almost broke my nose. I'm safer fighting Death Eaters, no?"

"No, but you're as stubborn as the rest of us, so I guess there's no talking you out of it."

"Are you always this pleasant?"

"He's usually worse," Cho said from behind. She handed Neville a Portkey. "It activates in five minutes."

"Why is it timed?" he wondered.

"Death Eaters set another Portkey block. Madame Bones's connections figured a work-around for timed Portkeyes."

"Nothing wizard-activated?"

"Three more days, she thinks."

"Great."

Cho turned to her. "You and Fleur are on overwatch duty with Marcus and Adrian."

As though summoned by their names, two wizards walked through the front door.

"Marcus, Adrian!" Fleur hugged them both. "You saved our lives last spring—thank you!"

"You saved ours, multiple times. It was a dreadful night," Marcus answered.

"One I'd prefer not dwelling on," Adrian added. "I thought you and Harry were both dead. We all did."

We almost were," Fleur said. "I never found out who drove off the Death Eaters."

Marcus pointed his chin at Neville. "He and a few others were following a group of them. They led them to the meeting, so Neville took his group and swept around the side, attacking their flank and driving them back."

Gabrielle stepped nearer her sister, and noted both wizards. Marcus was taller, with the well-defined upper body of a professional athlete. Adrian was smaller and at first glance, the prettier of the two, but a hardness existed in his demeanor that matched Neville.

He turned to her. "So, you're Gabrielle?"

She raised a bemused eyebrow.

"I'm dating Jaycinda."

"Ah, how often do you smell like steak?"

He chuckled. "She's not quick enough to hit me even if she tried." Then he waved Fleur over before asking, "Did Neville explain your roles tonight?"

"Something about being on a rooftop," Fleur answered. "But that's all."

"Our responsibility's making sure there are no surprises, and to bail the others out if there are. We'll be hidden on the roofs."

"Why's that?" Gabrielle asked.

"Higher ground," Fleur answered.

"She's right," Adrian agreed. "And it gives us a better view."

Five minutes later, Gabrielle stood next to Fleur on the roof of another run-down building. They faced a soot-laden back alley buried in another used-and-then-discarded industrial-revolution city. A big brick wall spanned the alley a block to the north. Below them, Neville and the others hid in the shadows and waited for the Death Eaters they expected to exit one of the buildings. Adrian and Marcus rested on the adjacent rooftop. If she stared very hard, she could almost make out their outlines.

"Heads up," Fleur whispered next to her.

Gabrielle turned her attention to the street below. Death Eaters emerged from a door fifty feet to the left of her perch. She froze, not wanting to tip them off by moving as Marcus had instructed her.

The first sign of the ensuing battle was a strange squelching noise zipping up the street and someone banishing a potion at the door the Death Eaters exited. It melted into the frame, cutting off their sole avenue of escape.

Before she could blink, eight green curses leapt across the street, killing three separate Death Eaters before the fight even began. Faces appeared in open second-story windows across from her, launching spells at her friends below. Explosions reached her ears, followed by the sight of debris littering the street as Death Eaters at ground level launched their own volley of assorted spells.

It was all so fast, so scary, so overwhelming—this was war, real war, and it was nothing like she thought it'd be. Dozens of curses crisscrossed below her, crashing into bodies and killing the less-lucky ones. Already, how many had died? Three? Five? And it all happened while she inhaled a single breath of cold, polluted air.

Then, an uneasy tingling took hold in her Veela magic.

"Dark Arts," Fleur said, as if in response.

"You feel it too?"

"It's faint. So, are you ready to do this?"

"What, fight?"

"Yes. Our friends'll die if we don't."

And with that, both Fleur and Gabrielle entered the battle. A Killing Curse leaped from Fleur's wand and streaked the distance, hitting a Death Eater in the leg, and killing him.

Gabrielle sent across two nastier spells in her repertoire: Jagged Cutters and Bone Breakers. Two more second-floor Death Eaters went down, and more took their spots, but these had seen where the curses originated.

Gabby ducked behind the parapet as a Mauve Curse whooshed overhead. She came up and fired off three jinxes meant to do nothing more than keep the Death Eater she targeted busy. Fleur followed it up with a much more brutal spell that lit the Death Eater in a yellow glow. He retched, expelling his insides to the sidewalk below before following them to his death.

"Down!" Gabby felt herself being yanked backwards. She landed hard on her bum, sliding a few feet on the rough surface as another set of curses shot above her. By the time she crouched behind the parapet again, Marcus and Adrian had disappeared. They reappeared behind the Death Eaters on the second floor.

Two more went down from green curses to their backs, but the others were quick, and they spun to face the wizards.

Gabrielle wasn't about to watch someone she knew die. With all the force she could muster, she pulled up both Veela and human magic and commanded them through her wand.

The raw magic left a streak of white light, contained in glowing, wispy blue. A second, simultaneous bout of magic flowed from Fleur's wand, hitting the far wall with an explosion that shook the block. Brick, mortar, plaster, and everything else in the vicinity blew inward, slicing through anyone too close to protect themselves, but missing both Marcus and Adrian.

Below, the battle had turned against the rest of her friends as more Death Eaters poured into the alley thirty yards to Gabrielle's right. They were smart enough to keep to their left, which hid them from her and her sister.

Her new-found friends were about to die.

With a roll of her shoulders and flip of her hands, her winter robe dropped. She ignored the sting of frozen air through her jumper and trouser and raced across the rooftop. Dormant instincts came alive, and she didn't even have to look to know Fleur was in lockstep.

They reached the parapet on the right side of the building, and without breaking stride, stepped up and pushed with all their might against the top of the wall. Without thought, she shifted forms, gave a mighty pump of her wings, and glided to the next building. Crossing its parapet, she transformed back, dropped to the roof, and ran again, still not breaking stride. To her left, the light from cast spells grew more intense and she used it to judge her next launch point.

Fifteen yards.

Ten yards.

Gabrielle felt her magic tethered to Fleur's, locked together in a way that reminded her of the day they watched Petra fight Professor Sirko.

Now!

She turned hard left, put her foot on the long-running Parapet facing the alley of the ongoing battle, and pushed off again. But this time, she straightened her body in mid-air, aiming at the nearest Death Eater, then transformed.

An instant before hitting her target, she flared her wings, giving her enough forward momentum to drive her talons through his chest, her other claw sinking into his throat. Then, she kicked her legs and an awful tearing noise reached her ears, followed by a headless body thudding against the ground.

Gabrielle landed, her wand up, and a Blasting Spell disintegrating a second Death Eater's stomach. Blood and flesh filled the air, splattering off the surrounding walls and coating her.

A Killing Curse streaked by, hitting the last standing Death Eater. She watched him fall, then spun and saw Neville racing towards them, the battle over.

And with it, Gabby's ability to process what happened shut off, overloaded that she had taken a life—two, three lives in the last twenty seconds. She tried to breathe, to blink, to do something, but no part of her body would obey. A ripping erupted from her chest she realized were her own sobs. Only then could she form a single word, her eyes focused on her sister holding her in both hands. "Fleur?"

Gabrielle collapsed, shaking uncontrollably.

Somewhere behind her, worried voices questioned if she were okay. Her sister's voice—sad and broken—answered. "She's never killed someone."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Cramps pinched at Fleur's legs and her back was sore from the odd angle in which she was leaning, but nothing would stop her from holding her sister, sitting on their makeshift bed in the safe house. Gabrielle stopped crying an hour after they arrived, but said little since.

A knock on the door pulled her attention from Gabrielle. She looked up to see Susan poking her head in the room.

"May we come in for a second?"

She nodded.

Susan, Cho, and Jaycinda entered. Susan carried a vial and a glass of water. "I just came back from Aunt Amelia's. After telling her about tonight, she brewed a potion and told me to give it to you."

"What is it?" Fleur asked.

"She called it 'Auror's Aftermath.' It's a Sleeping Draft they use after facing nasty or difficult situations. It lets you fall into a restful sleep and keeps dreams away, but it's not as harsh as a Dreamless Sleep potion. Unfortunately, it leaves a slight taste in your mouth, which is what the water is for."

"Gabrielle?" Fleur nudged her sister, still sitting in her lap and leaning against her. "Do you want to try it?"

"Later."

Fleur gestured toward the nightstand and Susan set it down. At the foot of the mattress, Jaycinda knelt. "Gabrielle? If it'll help, you can punch me in the nose. You owe me a good one."

"No, thanks, I already feel bad enough."

"I can't say I understand," Jaycinda said. "I haven't had to do something like that, yet, but you helped bring everyone home safe, and those Death Eaters you killed were bad people. So, don't be too hard on yourself."

Gabrielle didn't answer. Fleur leaned her chin on her sister's head and asked. "How's Neville? His wounds didn't look that bad, but I've learned that doesn't mean much."

"He'll be okay," Cho answered. "Neville caught the tail-end of an Explosive Spell. It'll scar him some more, but that's about it."

"Watching him was surreal. Except for 'Arry, I've never seen someone fight like that."

"And I've never seen anyone fight like you and Gabrielle," Susan replied. "The way you two came off that roof in tandem—" she laid a hand on Gabrielle's knee "—what you did was amazing."

Gabrielle sat up and wiped her cheeks dry. "Susan?"

"Yes?"

"Bugger off! Bitch!" She slapped the witch's hand off her knee.

Fleur's brain short-circuited. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," she answered before glaring at Susan again. "You're a hypocrite! 'Don't be like the Death Eaters. Your magic is too much like what they do.' Yeah? Well, they also kill people, just like I did—and now you're applauding me? Those wizards are dead because I promised I wouldn't use my Veela magic. If I did, they'd still be alive, and I wouldn't have half that man's body splattered all over my clothes!"

Susan rubbed her hand, but gave no sign of backing off. "And you think turning a man's sexuality against him is any better?"

"I am Veela. I understand how my magic affects wizards. I feel it, sense it, smell it," Gabrielle said. "But now, I know how killing a wizard feels! And, in case you forgot, we're empathetic. So I felt everything he felt as he died, and it was a thousand times worse than lying on a road overexcited. So excuse me if I don't get all a-feather in moral outrage about using my Veela magic!"

Fleur watched as Susan's anger flitted across her face, then morph into something much softer. She knelt, eye level with Gabrielle. "Listen, what you did tonight was justified. The wizarding world—hell, even the Muggle world—is built on the idea that anyone who murders, forfeits his or her own life. You believe it yourself. That's why you didn't have a problem when your sister killed Pansy or the Death Eaters in the graveyard. And, think about Harry, or Neville. Between them, they've killed hundreds of wizards and witches."

When Gabrielle didn't respond, she continued.

"Look, after talking to Neville this afternoon, I realize I overreacted this morning, but I still stand by what I said—no, listen—Neville shared with me what your magic did, how it mixed with his imagination and supplied images of you. Now, If Neville was a Death Eater who had no sense of right or wrong—and most of them don't—what do you think he'd do after seeing all those images?"

"I know," Gabrielle answered. "But it doesn't make me feel any better."

"Good." Cho knelt next to Susan. "If it did, then you wouldn't be as good a person as you are now."

"Exactly." Fleur prodded her sister to face her. "This is what I meant about being a beautiful human. An ugly human would fold in the face of fear, change everything they believed just to suit their own purposes, but you're too beautiful inside to do that."

"How can someone be beautiful inside when they kill?"

"Killing is ugly," Fleur agreed. "But sometimes beautiful humans, like Papa, 'Arry, or Neville must do ugly things."

Gabrielle pondered that for a minute before looking up at Susan. "Sorry for calling you a bitch . . . or telling you to eff off this morning."

Susan gave Gabrielle the largest genuine smile Fleur had yet seen from the younger witch since their days at Hogwarts. "Don't be, and remember, talking helps. The first time I killed a wizard was the night of Hogwarts's attack. A week later, I realized I killed another human being, and then I cried for three days straight." She lifted the potion. "It's also how I know this stuff works. Sleep now, and we'll talk again tomorrow if you need to."

Thirty minutes later, Fleur closed the door to her room and sat at the kitchen table.

"Is she asleep, yet?" Neville asked.

"Just," Fleur answered.

"I heard everything out here—I'm sorry she had to go through that."

"Don't be. I warned her we were stepping into the middle of a war, but she wouldn't change her mind."

"Why's that?"

"Guilt. She blames herself for 'Arry returning, but more than that, I think she couldn't stand watching me leave without helping."

Neville picked at a gouge in the old table. "So, I take it if I hit her with a Portkey to France, she'd find her way back and make my life a living hell."

Fleur smiled. "If you got off that lucky. What's this about knowing what I liked for breakfast at Hogwarts?"

A chuckle escaped his chest. "I'm not living that down, am I?"

She took his hand and let a slight bit of her magic out, enough to help the raw pain that his current stoic facade hid. "Nope, nor are you any good at hiding what's bothering you."

He shifted in his seat, discomfort registering both in emotions flowing off him, and in the tightness of the muscles around his eyes and in his shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"She's not Su Li, and you can't redeem yourself by protecting Gabrielle."

"I know, I . . ." He sighed. "Someone like her doesn't belong in this hell. I heard what you said in there, and you're right."

Fleur patted his hand and hid the grin that threatened to break out. "Neither do you, or 'Arry, or any of us."

"I don't know about that. My first time killing someone was that night at Hogwarts, and it released a yearning for blood, for death. And then, after Su died, I went numb. The only thing I could feel was the desire to see the bitch who did it, suffer. That sure as hell doesn't make me a beautiful human."

"Don't be so sure. Veela are a good judge of character. I wouldn't bother with you if you weren't. Neither would Gabby."

"She is special, isn't she?" he asked. "I mean, these are her enemies and we all know what they'd do to her, and yet, she still cares. You Veela, you are amazing creatures."

Sensing his respect, she didn't take offense at the phrase, though she reminded herself to let him know later _creature_ wasn't the best way to refer to Veela. "Not all of us. I couldn't care less about killing Death Eaters that first night, then again when they attacked the Burrow. Last spring, standing side-by-side with 'Arry, I kept wishing I was full Veela so I could burn them all and dance in their ashes."

"You did?"

"We're protective, and they were threatening people I loved. I know it wasn't right, and it makes me realize I'm still not as beautiful a human as I wish."

"I'm not sure about that," Neville whispered.

Fleur gave him a playful push. "I don't mean physically. My Veela heritage makes sure of that. I mean here—" she tapped her chest with her other hand "—where it matters."

"I still think you're wrong. Cho and Susan kept getting updates on you and Harry, and from all we heard, you both dealt with a lot, yet, cared enough to stick it out. And, now you're back, risking your life looking for him. Then, there's Gabrielle. The way you cared for her today . . ." He tapped his own chest. "I'd say you're beautiful here, too."

A lump formed in her throat. "I'm learning."

"More than learning, and I'd never have said that at Hogwarts. Then again, after seeing you in your swimsuit, I couldn't have said anything to you anyway."

She blushed, and he leaned back and covered his mouth, trying not to wake her sister with his laughter.

Fleur slapped his shoulder. "You're a bloody prat!"

He laughed even harder, his face turning red and big swells of tears amassing in the corners of his eyes, but his laughter was infectious, and soon, she found herself laughing right along with him.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Hundreds of miles to the North, Harry sat on a downed log in the Forbidden forest, waiting for an answer from Dobby.

"Greatest Wizard be promising Dobby get to play, too?"

"Yes, if Lucius shows up," he agreed. "Otherwise, I need you far away. So, can you stalk Malfoy manor and come let me know when they return?"

The House-elf nodded, his ears following the slow movement. "But Dobby be telling Greatest Wizard—they gone for long time. The house being covered with dust."

"They were, but if Charlie is right, they'll be returning soon. They need a place to stash all the wizards coming in from overseas, and if Malfoy manor is as big as you say, they'll definitely use it."

"And if more Maskies show?"

Harry smiled. "Then you get to have more fun."

Damn, did the elf ever like that idea.

"But, I doubt that'll happen. They're snobbish enough to make sure the house is clean before they let anyone else in. So, I figure we have a day, maybe two."

"Dobby thinks Greatest Wizard be right. I go now and watch." As the House-elf disappeared, snow began falling again in the forest. Harry looked up, wondering how Fleur was still alive.

He just hoped he wasn't right when he told Pansy he killed Harry Potter, that he was now Death, and the old body, that other person, was nothing but a memory.


	26. Forced Egression

.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Forced Egression  
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Fleur, Neville, and Oliver slipped out of the mid-March afternoon into an old Muggle parlor, greeting wizards and witches along the way. Charlie and Tonks nodded to them from across the room, as did Madame Bones.

"Thank you for coming," another wizard said. Fleur looked over to find Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody heading the Order meeting. "Today, we welcome Ms. Delacour. I administered her oath two years ago. You can trust her. Now, we've received word the French Magical government will help us," Alastor turned to Fleur. "If my sources are correct, you once worked with their security services."

"I was part-time office help for my father," she answered.

"Your father, who happens to be Mr. Delacour, an Assistant Minister in the French Government, correct?"

"Yes."

"And, he works with the French Magical Security Services, does he not?"

"He does," she answered again.

"So, as I said, you worked in their security department. Now, what do you make of this?" He handed her a copy of an official-looking document.

"I've never seen it."

"I'm sure you haven't. I'm asking for your thoughts on how long it'll take France to move."

Fleur gave the document a quick scan. "I have no idea. We have a hundred twenty Aurors, and the Vulgaire French government agreed to let us pull wizards serving in their military into our ranks if we need them, but I can't say anything else."

"Can't, or won't?" Alastor asked.

"Can't," she said. "I already told you, I was office help. I came across the agreement because I had to audit the files a few months ago; but that's open information, anyway."

"Open, but not well-known," Madame Bones, sitting opposite Fleur, corrected. "I've heard a rumor or two, but no more."

"Why would they even have such an agreement?" Another wizard asked.

Fleur didn't recognize him, but decided to answer, anyway. "It came after Grindelwald's rampage through Europe."

Alastor pointed to the document. "So, you don't know how long it'll take to organize?"

Fleur scanned the entire page again before answering. "No . . . But, if they're waiting for the Zekānōt's support, you'll have better luck waiting for the Atlantian Navy."

Oliver cocked his head to the side. "Zeka-who?"

"Zekānōt," Fleur answered. "The Veela government."

"Why do you believe they'll hesitate?" asked Madame Bones.

Fleur shrugged. "Same reason I renounced my loyalty when I last stood before them—they're sheep in wolves' clothing." She passed the document back to Alastor. "Veela no longer care about the Wizarding world. They can't see beyond their beaks to realize this war is as much about their survival as everyone else's. The days of Veela-Warriors are long-since gone."

Alastor folded the parchment and slid it into his robes. "Then we will continue fighting the war on our own."

When the meeting broke up two hours later, Fleur cornered Tonks and Charlie. "Did 'Arry contact you?"

"No," Charlie answered. "I'm sure he's fine, though."

"How are you doing?" asked Tonks.

"We're settling into Neville's group pretty well," she answered.

"I didn't ask that."

Fleur leaned against the meeting table. "Worried, but that's nothing new."

"Don't give up hope," Charlie said. "He'll find you when he's finished."

"And until he does, stay safe," Tonks added. "And you can always come see me if you need to talk."

Fleur thanked her, then rejoined Neville and Oliver, talking with Madame Bones.

". . . I'm not sure how important it is, but it's worth finding out."

Neville and Oliver exchanged glances before Neville answered. "We'll check into it."

"What was that about?" Fleur asked as they were leaving.

"We have a new target," Neville answered.

They Apparated to their new safe house; a postwar two-story concrete building sporting a broken facade and few comforts besides a stove, heat, and too many empty rooms. Fleur let go of Neville's hand as soon as they appeared on the front porch.

Neville reached for the door, a grin stretching across his face.

Fleur decided to ask about it.

"What do you mean?" Neville answered with his own question.

"Whenever we go somewhere, you're smiling when we return."

"So?"

"When my sister's absent, so's your smile. Coincidence?"

Neville's face fell. Fleur pushed him in, then grabbed his cloak, stopping him just inside the door. A laughing Oliver followed, sliding passed them and going upstairs where they'd taken residence.

"She likes you," Fleur said in the empty hall.

"Why me of all people?"

Fleur cuffed him on the shoulder. Hard. "I'm beginning to wonder the same thing."

"Sorry—she's a goddess, and I'm . . ."

"Still hung up on Su?"

Sorrow tempered his complexion. "Yeah, to a point, although you've helped me get over most of it, but that's confused me, too."

"In what way?"

Neville averted his gaze and his cheeks turned pink. "I, I like you. A lot." he answered. "Not like _that_," he added quickly, "but . . ."

Fleur took his hand. "I may understand better than you think. Veela connect with wizards at a deep level, and it's easy to confuse feelings. That's why we stay away from most unmarked wizards; but, since Gabrielle's had your attention from that first night, it makes it easier for us to develop a familial type of relationship.

He huffed. "What, you want to be my little sister?"

"I'm older than you by three years."

"Three whole years. How do you hide all your wrinkles?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes. "You get the same warning I gave 'Arry: Never_. _Piss. Off. A. Veela."

"Huh, that almost sounds like a challenge."

She cuffed him a second time. "I swear, you and 'Arry both . . ." So that's why Gabrielle likes Neville, Fleur realized. He and 'Arry were hatched from the same egg. "So, what about my sister?"

"Well, she's impressed me over the last few months."

"And?'

Neville gently pushed Fleur toward the stairs. "I can't get her out of my head anymore. I worry about her all the time, and I get knots in my stomach whenever she enters the room; but . . ."

"But, what?"

"Like I said. I'm just me. Why would she choose me of all people?"

They reached the second Floor, but before opening the door, Fleur looked over her shoulder and answered, "Because you're you. If you were anyone else, you'd never have a chance."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X **

Harry released Dobby's arm and looked around the small foyer. Walls hewn from stone and matching floors contributed to an antiseptic feel that penetrated Malfoy Mansion. A white throw rug and two high-backed wooden chairs completed the décor.

Dobby guided him through the mansion to the main room where a fireplace consumed most of the opposite wall. To his right, another bare rock wall rose eighteen feet to kiss the ceiling beams.

The elf disappeared to keep watch and Harry went to work, haplessly piling furniture atop a couch pushed into a corner. He hit the floor with three Cleaning Charms and a Scourging Spell, working his way to the mantel and walls before his nose stopped itching—not why he cleaned, but a convenience, nonetheless. Finished, he lit the fireplace before fishing a hard-backed chair from atop his furniture pile and rested until Draco and Narcissa returned three hours later.

Dobby popped in to announce their return.

"And Lucius?"

"Dobby still waiting for entertainment to come."

"Entertainment?" Harry repeated.

"Greatest Wizard will see soon."

Harry heard the front gate opening. "Go," he said. "Keep watch for Lucius and don't let him enter on his own."

"Greatest Wizard always gives Dobby the bestest gifts!" Dobby answered, then Disapparated.

"A bloody stupid war, this is," Narcissa said as she opened the door." We'd be better off escaping to the United States."

"Better never let the Dark Lord hear you say that, you're not developing a fondness for Mudbloods, are you?"

"Watch your tone, Draco. I am still your mother," Narcissa answered. She closed the door rather forcefully. "I don't care about the trash of magical society, but this? Killing people because they're not pure-bloods? It's stupid."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Narcissa hadn't taken the mark according to Harry's last Death Eater "interviews," and this proved it as far as he was concerned. He rose from the chair, letting his eyes glaze red as blackened air rippled across the room.

"If you believe—" Draco began, but fell silent as he entered the main room and paled in the firelight.

"Draco," Harry greeted him, mimicking the arrogant drawl. Recognition discolored the boy's face further. Harry's wand flashed, disarming both Draco and his mother, and finished with a downward snap and right twirl driving Narcissa to the floor. He stripped her jumper, leaving her bra in place—he had no wish to see _any _Malfoy naked—then bound her spread-eagle.

"Mother!" Draco glared at Harry. "Let her go, Potter!"

Harry tilted his head back and called on the Horcrux to replicate Voldemort's mocking laugh before answering. "You believe you're powerful enough to command me? I, Voldemort's better?"

"You're, you're delusional!" Draco countered, his voice wavering.

Harry reinforced the charm on his eyes, making them glow even brighter as Draco's palpable fear became Harry's intoxicant. "Every journey of black discovery Tom Riddle walked, every magical perversion to gain power he entertained, I know them all; I command them all, and more. So much more."

"It's, it's true."

"Yes," He answered, before raising his wand and sending Draco arching half the room's length into ceiling-height shelves. An avalanche of books buried him. Harry split the pile with a wave of his hand, exposing Draco lying on the floor with blood turning his platinum blond hair a dirty brown in the low light.

"Rise," Harry commanded.

When Draco didn't move, Harry took a step forward. "I said, _Rise!_" Then reached through his magic for Draco's body. He took a hold of the ponce's spine and forced him to his feet. "Disobey me again and I'll break every bone in your body and grind them into dust."

_Yes! Torture him! _the Horcrux encouraged. _Torture him, kill him. Don't throw away your power. Forgo your plans and ascend! Take your rightful place: the throne of the next Dark Lord! _

_We don't need you_. The other, deeper voice answered. _Interloper; Parasite. Your own words condemn you to your fate. _

_Without me, you have no hope. _

_Without you, Horcrux, there is only hope_._ You have no further lessons to teach or deeper knowledge to grant. _

Quiet! Harry demanded as an alien piece of magic tickled his senses. Harry applied a Sticking Charm to the large, empty wall, and with another flick of his wand, sent Draco crashing into it. Then, he hit him with a Silencing Spell.

Dobby appeared a moment later, standing atop a still unconscious Narcissa with Lucius suspended in midair by his own wand. He slashed it sideways, sending the Death Eater tumbling to the floor. "Master's home! Dobby be taking master's cloak!"

An intricate motion and offhand twist animated Lucius's cloak. It made three loops around the Death Eater's throat and dragged him across the floor.

Lucius frantically pulled at his neckline, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tried to suck in oxygen.

Dobby flicked his wand again and the cloak relaxed. "Oh, bad elf!" he said. "Dobby must punish hisself."

He reared his foot, cried out "Bad Dobby!" and booted Lucius in the face. "Bad Dobby!" he said. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" he repeated, kicking with every exclamation. "You's a bad, bad, elf! Must make foot hurt more!"

When blood covered Lucius's face, Dobby stopped and leaned over the wizard. "Punishment's not enough, is it, Master? No, punishment is never enough for Dobby. Master always he's being a bad elf." Dobby drove his foot into Lucius's ribs and, by his third kick, bones cracked; by his seventh, Lucius was coughing up blood.

Finally, the elf stopped again. "Is Master bleeding? Dobby being sorry. Dobby punish hisself again, then clean master." Even as he finished the sentence, Dobby shoved his hands into the fireplace, leaving Harry standing dumb opposite him.

"Dobby always bad elf," the elf muttered. "'Put hands in fireplace,' Master says. 'Punishment!' Master reminds Dobby. 'Slam foot in door,' Young Master commands, and Dobby obeys. Dobby always obeys. But no more. Dobby now is very bad elf, and it makes Dobby happy, yes it does. Happiest elf indeed."

And with that, he spun, a glowing log between his hands and his face contorted in agony. The stench of burning elf-flesh filled the room, and the smell was indescribable—a dozen times worse than charred human flesh. Dobby treated the log like a Beater's bat, cracking Lucius across the head once, twice, then changed his grip and slammed it against Lucius's stomach.

Lucius howled, but remained transfixed by magic. Dobby ignored him, instead chanting Elven phrases mixed with broken English. The log, its embers dying, flared bright red, and the smell of burned human flesh joined the stomach-turning reek.

Draco looked on, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, his body trembling.

"It's a lesson you and your father never learned," Harry said, watching him out of the corner of his eye. "You constantly confused meek with weak. A shame you won't have time to put that lesson into practice after tonight."

A flare of Dobby's magic caught Harry's attention. He glanced back at the elf, whose wand-tip now glowed as he made intricate shapes in air roiling with incandescent yellows and blues. Magic, the strongest yet from Dobby, flooded the room as he chanted his eerie, ancient tongue.

Harry had to stop him, but as soon as he formed the thought, screams resounded in his head—the Horcrux letting loose unintelligible shrieks interrupting any coherent sentence Harry tried stringing together. The Deeper Voice growled its reply, spitting profanities at the Horcrux. Around and round they went, voices intermixing, growing louder, until they consumed Harry's thoughts. And all the while, Dobby's magic grew more powerful.

He fell to his knees, pounding clenched fists against his head until the pain cleared it, then spit out the one word he could muster.

"STOP!"

The walls shook and the floor trembled at the sound of his accidental magic-enhanced voice.

Dobby, on the cusp of finishing his spell, froze in mid cast.

"No," Harry said. "No ancient magic. Nothing that might interfere."

"But Dobby almost being finished," the elf replied. He raised his wand again.

"I said, _NO!_" Harry thrust his hand forward, sending a push of magic at the elf, disarming him.

Dobby spun, his eyes bleeding hatred. "Humans!" the elf spat. "Always being interfering. Always being right, but never true." Silence followed, until Dobby simply faded from the room.

Harry gained his feet and stood over barely conscious Lucius. A hundred quotes, quips, and lectures crashed through his mind; but silence, he realized, was the best statement of all.

A poker levitated into his hand and he held it, inverted, high over his head, then drove the tip through Lucius's temple as he'd done a dozen or more times. Lucius's body twitched as muscles carried out last orders in jarring spasms. Harry watched until the Death Eater lay still, his blood flowing along the floor, almost touching Narcissa's clothes. That, Harry knew, was something he couldn't allow.

With two spells, Harry banished Lucius's body and cleaned the floor before inspecting Narcissa's trousers, but the dark material made it difficult to decide whether Lucius's blood had contaminated them. He chose caution over modesty and removed them as well.

Finished, he faced Draco. "I want to know what Voldemort is planning. Answer me honestly, and I will be merciful when I kill you and your mother. Lie once, and they'll hear your screams at Durmstrang. Do you understand?"

Draco glared.

Harry really didn't want to waste time torturing the truth out of him, nor did he want remnants of magic lining the room, but if he had no other choice . . . An Imperius and Compulsion Combination Spell enslaved the young Death Eater's mind before Harry removed the Silencing Charm. "Tell me everything he's planning."

Forty-five minutes later, Harry dropped the spell and cast another Silencing Charm, then began the night's real work. He scanned the room with Diagnostic Spells he'd learned at Durmstrang, adding the archaic, darker spells the Horcrux held. Thankfully, they revealed only slight traces of magic. So he inscribed a circle in the floor and set candles along the outer ring twelve inches apart. Then, he knelt next to Narcissa and sliced her forearm deep enough to draw blood. After catching it in a small vial mixed with a strange-colored potion he made earlier, Harry cast another ancient spell, this one he'd read in the book found in Dumbledore's desk.

The liquid frothed. His heart pounded. The Horcrux screamed bloody murder. And that deep, dark voice let out a high-pitched, raucous laugh as Harry tipped his head back and downed the vial. It burned his throat and seared his stomach.

With shaking hands and wobbling knees, Harry focused on the Horcrux, and it responded by ripping his scar open, then turning inward and tearing at any possible mental hold. But Harry was stronger, if barely, and with blood pouring out of his forehead, he lifted his wand.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Narcissa shimmered a bright green before her chest sunk as air escaped her lungs one last time. On the wall, Draco wailed, screaming threats of murderous intent, all snatched away by Harry's Silencing Spell.

But Harry noticed nothing as his soul splintered along unknown seams. The resulting pieces spat what they carried most, creating a psychological cyclone of rage and humor, hate and love, pain and joy, all swirling around voices that threatened, mocked, teased, caressed, and loved. Others were violent and harsh, and combined, they ripped at his sanity.

The Horcrux, now freed from Harry's control, doubled its attack, piercing his soul. Pain, worse than the night he and Marcus fought in Bremen, tore through him. Harry's stomach flipped, then emptied itself, and what remained of his strength disappeared and he collapsed in his own vomit.

When he opened his eyes again, the setting sun was so beautiful from his perch high over Durmstrang that it stole his breath. But, it couldn't equal the Veela facing him, her hands wrapped in his robes. He read her lips as the wind desperately snatched at her words, but he heard enough, saw enough, to know what she was saying. "I'm not losing you again."

The scene changed, and now he stood along the tree-lined walkway running alongside the Main River in Germany. "You won't," he remembered saying.

"That's what I want to hear." She leaned in and kissed him before taking his cheeks in her hands. "Go. Finish what you started. But stay strong, Harry Potter, and remember your love for me."

In the main room of the manor, the Horcrux still raged. Whirling emotions rode clamoring voices; but now, with a mighty effort, Harry found he could focus.

He rose and squared on a terror-stricken Draco, beginning a chant over seventeen hundred years old. Then, without flourish, he pointed his wand at the scar. It opened wide, pushing even more blood down his face and soaking his robes. But the Horcrux couldn't fight the magic, and a black, shimmering smoke followed his wand as he pulled it from his head. And then, chanting a matching spell, he touched Draco's chest.

The black smoke swirled around his wand once before it burrowed through robes, skin, around ribs, and then came to rest in Draco's heart.

Harry backed away, watching Draco thrash against his Sticking Spell. Another green light escaped Harry's wand, and a shriek filled Malfoys' mansion, an eerie reminder of the day he'd saved Ginny Weasley's life.

Harry was free; the Horcrux, dead.

_Yes, _that deeper voice repeated. _And now, we shall rise, taking what is rightfully ours! _ And, a dozen voices from fragments of his soul echoed every word.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Neville scrubbed soap from his body and luxuriated under the hot shower. Errant thoughts of Gabrielle joining him teased his mind, even as he fought them off, focusing on the night's work.

He still didn't understand how she could like him, but then again, he didn't understand how Su liked him, either. . .

Su. She still occupied his heart, so why was her memory fading? Was it really Fleur's doing? Probably not, if he were honest. The war hardened him considerably. How many wizards had he killed already? Fifty? A hundred? Two-hundred? Did it matter anymore?

Another slow turn rinsed away the remaining soap. He shut the water and grabbed his towel. When they chose the safe house, he took it upon himself to transfigure the original utility closet and broken mop basin into a bathroom.

Maybe time helped, he wondered, returning to his previous thoughts. He'd heard the cliché, "time heals all wounds," but never paid much attention to it since his parents' absence hurt more each day.

So why was he getting over Su? Why was she different? They had laughed together, cried together, and even fought Death Eaters together until Bellatrix ripped her from him as she did his parents. So, again, why was her memory fading, but his parents, not? Maybe Fleur's magical Veela bollix wasn't bollix? Possible. Of course, maybe they were just taking the mick out of him. A shame the one area he excelled in school was Herbology rather than magical beings . . .

. . . Gabrielle was a gorgeous magical being . . .

He smacked himself in the head, tossed his towel in the hamper, and then dressed to meet the others.

The hall ended at a wide room with an open kitchen, all of which Susan and Cho spent hours decorating by charming old papers and broken cups into decorative wall-coverings.

Around the room, wizards and witches sat around the room. Oliver, Marcus, and Adrian were on his left. And, to his right, Jaycinda, Susan, and Fleur perched on a pile of boxes. Cho and Gabrielle sat opposite him on the only settee, a refugee from the previous safe house.

He decided to be bold, crossed the room, and plopped down between them, barely catching the surprised but pleased look Gabrielle was desperately trying to hide.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked.

A slight pink hue crept up her neck. "Not really."

"Good, let's get started," he said, ignoring Cho, who was mumbling about him not asking her permission, which made Gabrielle turn another shade of pink.

"We're hitting a suspected entry point for foreign Death Eaters Portkeying from Europe this evening." Silly grins others wore after watching Neville and Gabrielle disappeared. "Moody demands we be extra-vigilant tonight. He's learned an Auror team from Central Asia hit a similar site a few months ago. They lost a third of their team when some bloke named Markus tripped an explosive spell."

A small hand gripped his forearm so tight he thought she might break it. "Markus who?" she asked.

"What Aurors?" Fleur said at the same time.

"Dunno, some elite team."

"Where they from Bulgaria?" Gabrielle asked.

The name sounded familiar, too familiar in fact; but the look on Fleur's face and the pain emanating from Gabrielle without him even seeing her made him wish it wasn't.

"I believe so."

Gabrielle's hand slipped away. Dazed, she crossed the room, sank into Fleur's arms, and wept. Susan excused herself and guided them to their room.

"What was that about?" Neville asked. "How would they know someone in Bulgaria?"

"Think," Marcus answered. "Where was Harry training? What school did Krum attend? And what did Fleur tell us about them?"

He connected the dots. "Bloody hell, I should have known."

"Don't blame yourself," Cho said. "There are fifty some-odd magical governments in Europe alone, most of whom have a dozen or more Aurors and some have over a hundred. You simply couldn't have known."

Neville accepted it, even though he still felt horrible, but he decided to push on. "Since tonight's target is a Portkey entrance, I'm told no wards protect it, so we're going to hit it straight on, no mucking about with fancy spell-breaking."

"We're at least going to check, right?" Asked Marcus.

"Of course," Neville answered. "And thanks for volunteering."

"Do we know if anyone's there now?" Adrian asked.

"Moody said the Aurors in Bulgaria sent word a group's coming in tonight. That's who we plan on hitting. Remember, this is the end of a Death Eater Portkey route. If you see a wizard or witch holding a wand, and you don't recognize them, curse them. If they raise a wand at you, kill them, especially if they're in robes and masks. I expect to see every one of you alive when this is over."

Neville noticed the lighthearted comments that usually lightened the mood after one of his speeches were absent as he moved toward Fleur's and Gabrielle's room. Good, he thought. Maybe it'll keep them safe.

He knocked on the door. "Fleur, Gabrielle?"

Footsteps approached the door. When it opened, Susan stood aside and gestured him in. Fleur sat on the edge of a dirty mattress holding her sister.

He crossed the room and knelt in front of them. "I had no idea he was a friend. If I had, I would've told you in private."

Fleur took his hand for a second and squeezed, then let it drop. Neville leaned in and wrapped his big arms around them both. Gabrielle shifted, laying her head on his shoulder.

"You two stay here with Jaycinda and mourn your friend," he said after a few minutes. "We'll get back as soon as possible. If you need any . . ."

His voice trailed off as Gabrielle pulled back, her face long and narrow and her eyes boring into his. "I will not stay here weeping like a child while you're fighting Death Eaters, Neville Longbottom! You can kiss my cute little Veela ass if you think I'll be anywhere else but that raid tonight!"

Despite the frightening partial transformation, Neville plucked up his courage and wiped a tear from the side of her face. "You're mourning the loss of someone you cared for, and I don't want you dying tonight because you're too distracted. That's all, but it's your decision to make."

He felt magic surge in the room.

"Are you sure?" Fleur asked her sister.

"Absolutely."

"Alright," she glanced Neville. "Give us five minutes."

He blinked, thought better of asking about the magic, and answered, "We have ten before we need to leave, we're meeting downstairs."

But as he stood, Gabrielle slipped her hand into his, and despite the fell determination set in her features, her hand squeezed gently, caressing his before breaking contact.

"Ten minutes," he repeated, then he and Susan left them alone.

She leaned against the side halfway down the hall, her bottom lip between her teeth.

"You okay?" Neville asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Why's that?"

"All I could think was thank Merlin it wasn't someone we knew." She pointed back to the room. "You saw how devastated they are. And my response was what; to be thankful someone else is suffering this time?"

"I think it's normal. We've lost almost everyone we've ever known, or at least, I hope it is, otherwise I've completely lost my humanity."

"You too?" Susan asked.

"Yeah, and it doesn't feel so good to admit it, either; but I still think I'm right."

"I hope so." She swallowed, then eyed him again. "The way you handled Gabrielle in there, I'd be very careful if I were you."

"Why's that?" he asked a second time in as many minutes.

"Because she's going to fall completely in love with you if you keep treating her that way."

He shrugged. "I guess there's worse things."

Susan stared at him for a moment. "It took long enough."

"It?" Neville asked.

"You. You're finally joining the living again. I liked Su, but you've mourned her long enough."

"Maybe, but she was worth it."

"I agree," Susan said. "And I do miss her, but I'm glad you're finished, and just in time, too."

"For what?"

Susan stared for a moment, then walked off, shaking her head at the stupidity of Wizards.

Three hours later, they stood on the edge of a well-tended lawn, hiding behind trees and staring at a large mansion or small castle.

"Whose place is this?" Adrian asked.

Neville glanced at him. "You don't know?"

"Why should I?"

"He was a fellow Slytherin, I thought you lot did everything together."

Adrian answered with two fingers.

"Touchy, aren't you?" Neville joked. "It's the Goyle estate."

"You expect me to believe Goyle lived in a place like this?"

"He's a pure-blood, remember? It's probably been passed through the generations."

Cho, crouching on Neville's other side, whacked him in the leg. "Shh!"

"We're over a hundred yards from the structure and have Silencing Charms in place," he reminded her.

"Bad habits bring bad results," she repeated Shacklebolt's favorite saying, and she was right. Bad habits, like giving away positioning with unnecessary chatter, could kill.

A minute or two later, he felt more than noticed movement behind him. Marcus pulled off his Auror-grade Invisibility cloak. "They've set Proximity Charms and short-range Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards. The only way in without tripping a charm is trans-ocean travel."

"How can wards discern between the two?"

"I have no idea," Marcus answered. "But they're pretty common. Quidditch leagues use them to stop Apparition during games in heavy fog. Maybe our resident 'Claw knows how they work."

Cho shrugged. "This is the first I've heard of them."

"So, we're back to spell-breaking, and without our Auror support," Neville concluded, getting them on task. "If we can't get in without tripping those charms, I'm calling it off."

"Calling what off?" Fleur asked, joining the growing discussion. Cho moved to take her place with Gabrielle twenty or so yards away.

"Everything. Seems our resources missed the Proximity Charms, so we can't approach without tripping them . . ." His voice trailed off as Fleur's smirk grew.

"Do you know the specific charm?" she asked.

"It's a type of _Antihumanus _Charm, but set for detection," Marcus said. "Probably because Muggles have been buying up land around here and building, it looks like. Can't have people dropping dead for no reason, can they?"

"_Antihumanus_," Fleur repeated. "That won't be a problem."

"You know how to disarm it?" Neville asked.

"Nope, don't need to."

"Then, why isn't it a problem?"

Fleur kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said, and darted back to Gabrielle.

Neville turned to Marcus, befuddled. "Any ideas what that was about?"

"I think you're about to find out," Adrian answered, obviously listening to the conversation.

"Thank God for our Silencing Charms," Cho said as she approached. Fleur and Gabrielle are moving to the other side of the estate. They'll transform and cross the wards, bringing them down from the inside."

"They know how?" Marcus said.

"You weren't with us when we raided down in Devonshire last month, were you?" Neville asked. "They're not as good as Tonks and Shacklebolt, obviously, but they're better than any of us—Fleur especially."

Conversation stopped until a slight shimmer appeared across the estate.

"Robes," Cho said. "Think it's Fleur and Gabrielle?"

"That's my guess," Neville agreed. "Probably borrowed them from the other group." The other group, placed for a hammer-and-anvil tactic if Death Eaters appeared in the yard, consisted of Susan, Oliver, and Penelope Clearwater, the last joining them to provide extra eyes and, if need be, help.

Neville certainly hoped not. She had no experience fighting Death Eaters; but he loathed turning down a wand. He did hope, however, that Death Eaters couldn't detect a virgin fighter, or anything else . . .

"Bloody hell! Reverse all charms, quick, before the wards fall!"

Without a moment's hesitation, they removed all the Silencing, Warming, and Cushioning Charms making their wait bearable.

"What was that about?" Cho asked, her voice barely audible even though her lips tickled his ear.

"Keep your wands out," he snapped, frustrated with himself. A Magical Detection Charm, leaking outward after countering wards, might detect them. He should have realized the possibility earlier.

Five minutes later, Neville checked his watch again, growing anxious. But then, he felt a slight magical pull. He didn't know when he began sensing falling wards, but it was eerie to feel the vacuum of a charm disappearing.

A second and third _whoosh _told him all wards were gone. "Plan A," he called, and then Disapparated, reappearing before a large plate-glass window. He sensed rather than heard Cho Apparate to his side, and they launched two Blasting Spells through the front window and jumped in amid falling glass. He glimpsed Marcus and Adrian coming through a back door and peeling left, curses showering the room. They found the Death Eaters caretaking the arrival station.

He and Cho moved in support. Behind them, nine Death Eaters landed in the spot they'd just abandoned, all holding a single Portkey.

He shoved Cho right and dove left, cursing the nearest Death Eater. Thankfully, they were unaware of the danger until the robed wizard collapsed, a green glow dissipating. A second Death Eater grabbed his neck where Cho's Cutting Curse opened a carotid artery, spraying blood on the remaining wizards.

Neville launched another, missing high-left. The spell shattered shelved vases, peppering the room as the Death Eaters produced their wands. But they surprised him by facing the hallway instead of him. Then, he realized why.

Streaking toward them were two birdlike creatures, their wands twirling and twisting. Three Death Eaters fired curses that missed as Gabrielle and Fleur jumped, turned sideways, and ran four feet along the wall by extending their wings and pressing outward. The pressure kept their footing firm until they dropped right side up, returning two white-streaked spells, taking a Death Eater each in the chest with Veela-enhanced Blasting Curses.

Neville snapped out of his momentary awe and cursed another black robe, as did Cho, both opting for Killing Curses. A seventh Death Eater collapsed as Oliver and Susan climbed through the window frame—their robes evidencing a victorious battle outside. The last two Death Eaters managed to Disapparate—make that one and three-quarters, Neville thought, staring at a splinched leg. He hit it with another Killing Curse, making sure a Healer couldn't reattach it later.

"Well, that was fun," Adrian said as he joined them. "Do we need to check the outbuildings?"

"No," Fleur answered.

Neville shot her a look.

"There's no one else alive outside."

"Be that as it may, these old homes have too many places to hide." Neville tilted his head to Cho and Adrian. "You know what to do."

They turned away, and Neville ushered Fleur and Gabrielle outside.

"It's sad to watch," Fleur said later as smoke poured from an upstairs window. "Necessary, but still sad."

Neville shifted his gaze to her, then to Gabrielle. "How did you do that in the hall?"

"I don't really know," Gabrielle answered. "Instinct, I guess."

"I've never seen anything like it."

"You should have seen them fight out back," Susan said, joining them. "Go look around back, there's six more dead Death Eaters." She turned to the two Veela. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it. It's like you two were reading their minds."

"And had a personal grudge against every one of them," Penelope added, joining them as well.

"They mentioned another battle they participated in two months ago at a Portkey stop," Gabrielle said. "Maybe fate smiled on us for once."

Neville bit the inside of his cheek, a thought forming that made him sick to his stomach. "That means they've been here for a while, and this was more than just an arrival center—"

"They were housed here," Marcus finished. "But if the Death Eaters you killed had already been here a couple of months, and we know they're starting to pour into England, then where's the rest of them?"

"There," Neville said, pointing to the house.

They looked that way and found the main house consumed in flames. "Did anyone check upstairs?" Susan asked.

When no one answered, Neville decided it was time to leave. "We've been here too long. Let's go, and don't forget the robes and cloaks in the forest."

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

Harry stumbled down the steps of Malfoy manor, landing hard on the concrete path and twisting his arm in the process. Pieces of his shattered soul clamored for his attention, making it impossible to concentrate. He unsuccessfully pushed himself up three times before realizing he'd also fractured his ankle.

Deciding he couldn't walk, Harry focused on Apparating, but it was no use. His broken soul and distance back to his cave guaranteed he'd splinch himself. Unfortunately, his inability to concentrate also made healing himself impossible, so he decided to try short-range Apparition. Dobby showed him the area earlier, and he remembered a place he might reach without too much problem.

"I'm Apparating," he yelled at pieces of his soul, "and if I botch this, we're all dead, so, please, shut up!"

Thankfully, they did. He worked himself to a kneeling position, focused on green grass and blooming, low-hanging branches, and twisted.

Evergreen bushes formed a hedge, outlining the property. Their scent, mixed with freshly cut grass met him as he appeared with a pop too loud for his liking, even if he couldn't manage much else in his condition. He pushed himself under low-hanging branches, cast three basic secrecy Charms, then succumbed to the physical and mental pain.

The sun shaded past midpoint when he woke the next day, thankful he'd cast his warding charms as seventy or so people stood a few yards from where he lay, all dressed in black. It took a moment before he stilled his heart and remembered a similar scene from the Muggle world. He'd Apparated into a graveyard.

A clergyman preached hope in light of tragedy, a greater purpose opposed to loss. A wife, mother, friend, she had so much, a good husband, loving son, fulfilling job. But, like so many others, she died needlessly, victimized by the terrorist epidemic sweeping Europe. Harry listened, wondering if they knew, if they understood what had happened so far paled in comparison to what was coming.

At least his soul's disparate voices remained quiet, even if little else had changed. His ankle ballooning concerned him, since he couldn't feel his toes. He reached for them, but the movement caused a wave of nausea, and touching his wrist doubled it. Harry closed his eyes and let the droning sermon carry him back to blissful sleep.

The next time he woke, the moon had replaced the sun, its meager light sprinkled through dark clouds. Shadows spread across the graveyard like old lovers yearning to touch those they once carelessly held. In the distance, a single light highlighted a young boy, his knees sinking in the freshly relaid sod and his hands pressed together. His shoulders heaved with every sob.

Harry recognized him as the boy who attended with his father—the slain woman's son. He watched the boy pour out his heart, begging her to come back.

A distant voice called, "Samuel? Samuel, where are you?" Fear cracked the name as headstones echoed his voice.

The boy leaned forward, hurrying through his prayer.

"Please, son, answer me—you're all I have left."

A minute later, he caught sight of his son and rushed forward. "Samuel?" he called again, softer this time.

The boy ran to his father. Dad knelt and hugged him. "You can't take off on me like that. If something happened to you, what would I do?"

"I, I was ready."

Dad gently pushed him back an arm's length. "What do you mean, you were ready?"

And then, Harry blinked to make sure his eyes weren't betraying him. The boy, no more than nine years old, pulled a wand from his back pocket. "It's mum's. If they come again, I'll get them."

"Protecting you is my responsibility. You don't have to fight them," dad said.

"I, I have to. They can do magic like me and mum; but, but you can't, so I have to be ready for us both."

Harry stared at the boy, his burning ankle and throbbing wrist forgotten. He'd taken too long. Children—not teenagers—_children _were preparing to fight. Harry needed to kill Voldemort and end this war, soon, and what he learned from Draco only confirmed his thoughts. But, after tonight, Harry again feared his future. He'd used the blackest magic he knew to shed Voldemort's Horcrux only for the Dark Arts to redouble their call—beckoning him home. He realized only now how the power and high he felt torturing and killing Death Eaters consumed his soul.

Well, if he were damned, he'd drag Voldemort with him into the proverbial valley where they'd dwell forevermore.

**X ~ X ~ X ~ X**

"It's a quick shot there and back," Neville said.

Fleur nodded, sitting on top a stack of boxes and watching her sister hide her joy as Neville almost constantly sat next to her now—meal times, meetings, no reason at all . . .

Gabby's handling of the incident last week impressed her. They later learned they'd torched two dozen Death Eaters at Portkey entry. Gabby mourned how they died, but she was happy not to face them in battle.

What worried Fleur, however, were her brash reactions earlier that night. Sure, Fleur suffered them herself after her change, but not during war. And last week, when Gabby learned those Death Eaters where responsible for Markus's death . . . her reckless attack scared Fleur, if truth be known.

"What do you think?" Susan asked.

Fleur blinked. "What? Sorry, I was lost in thought."

"The plan for this afternoon."

"Oh, uh, sure," she answered.

Neville's eye remained on her a moment longer than needed, telling her she hadn't fooled him at all. Since their talk, he'd been acting as if she were his little sister. It felt good, she admitted, strange, but good.

"What's got you a-flutter?" Gabrielle asked as the room cleared a few minutes later.

Fleur followed her into the bedroom and sat on the mattress before answering. "Just worried."

"About?"

"The normal stuff. You. 'Arry. Us getting back alive. Ending this war. Trying to keep your virginity intact."

"Who would I even lose it too?"

"Are you sure you want me to answer that?"

Gabby blushed. "We're not even dating!"

"Might as well be," she answered. "You do remember your Anti-Fertility Charms, no?"

"Shut up! You know I'm still a virgin!"

"And how would I know that?"

"We're empathetic, you hen! You'd probably know as it was happening."

Fleur's nose crinkled. "There's a scary thought."

Gabby rolled her eyes and changed the subject. "So, are you ready?"

"For?"

"Seriously? You heard nothing? There's an old Portkey entrance to the island we're checking out tonight. Neville decided it'd be better to make a show in force."

"Oh, yeah, that does make sense."

Gabby helped her off the bed. "I haven't forgot why we're here, we'll find 'Arry."

"I know," Fleur answered. "But I'm worried what we'll find when we do." At the look her sister gave her, she continued. "I mean how broken he'll be, how much pain he'll have to go through to ever become whole again."

"Yeah, I'm starting to worry about what we'll find the next time we see Azzurra, too, with Markus dead."

A lump formed in Fleur's throat. "I know, but knowing who her mother is, I'm sure she'll get all the help possible if she needs Zekānōt magic to help her through."

"I hope so."

Two and a half hours later, they watched another Portkey entrance burn to the ground. Fleur leaned to say something to Oliver, standing next to her, when she noticed a dozen Death Eaters emerging from the forest.

How did . . . They finished searching that section ten minutes earlier!

Fleur leveled her wand for her first volley, but it wasn't fast enough to disrupt the Death Eaters casting their own curses. A ghoulish looking brown curse clipped Fleur in the elbow, spinning her around and knocking the entire arm numb, but she recognized it and didn't worry. It was painful, but reversible.

The Death Eaters broke into smaller groups, engaging her friends two and sometimes three on one. These Death Eaters were good, never hesitating between casts.

Fleur threw her magic forward and dropped the Death Eater approaching her to his buckling knees. His lust-filled eyes rolled into his head. A quick slice of her wand ended his life.

To her left, three more focused on Neville, pinning him against the burning house. Fleur raced forward, leaping into the air. She transformed, tearing the head clean off the right Death Eater. Neville wasted no time, dropping the far left wizard, and together, they killed the last one.

"Your arm!" Neville said as soon as he saw the blood.

"It'll be alright, I recognized the curse. Where's everyone—" But a panicked yell interrupted her.

"Marcus!" Adrian's voice rang across the battle.

Fleur spun back to find him in mid cast, a black curse engulfing him and literally turning him inside out. She turned away before her stomach emptied itself.

And then, the two Death Eaters fighting him turned toward them, and collapsed as Adrian and Cho hit them with Killing Curses from fifty feet away, ignoring their own Death Eaters they were fighting.

Fleur launched a curse, missing high-left—the only safe place to cast without hitting a friendly.

Gabrielle raced forward from a right angle, shifted into her secondary form, and repeated Fleur's early maneuver. But instead of landing, she launched from the first Death Eater, her legs extended toward the second, intending to sink her claws right through his chest.

But the wizard was faster, He twisted aside, grabbed her legs, and twisted again. The remaining Death Eaters Disapparated as well, leaving Fleur stunned, staring at the spot where her sister disappeared. Gabrielle was gone. Taken captive by Death Eaters. She had no doubt what they'd do to her, either.

"Fleur!" Neville yelled.

Someone was shaking her.

"Fleur! Let's go!"

A creeping fear so horrid Fleur could feel her bones shaking overtook her. "She's gone. They, they . . ."

"We're going to find her," Neville said, the conviction in his voice demanding she believe him. He yanked a semi-conscious Death Eater by the collar and hoisted him up. "I guarantee we will know where she is within the hour. But we have to go, now!"

She barely noticed Susan and Adrian tripping a Portkey while holding Marcus's hands.

Cho took Fleur by the hand. "Hold on tight, I'll take us back home." Then, she turned on the spot as Neville and Oliver Disapparated with their only hope of finding Gabrielle alive.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Thank you again for reading. Sorry for the cliff hanger, but I haven't really left you with one since the early chapters. I did warn however there were a couple big ones coming towards the end of the story. This was one of them.

The actual chapter was right around 10.6k before editing. It comes in now a little over 8k for the story itself. Two scenes were streamlined considerably, and I thank my current Story Beta, Sirius009, for excellent advice along those lines. I may post the longer scenes in the outtakes story after a while, but not now, as I don't want what was in there to becoming headcanon for anyone for this story.

As for the next chapter, I have had about a third of it written for over three years. It's been one of those scenes that stuck in my mind and I just couldn't get it out until I wrote it. That chapter, along with this one, is probably the two darkest chapters in the story. I don't know if I'll use what I wrote before, but the concept will absolutely find its way into the narrative.

Updates are slow. I promise I'm not "withholding them for reviews" or anything asinine like that. Life is so hectic that I only get bits and pieces of time to write. When I do, I have to go with what's inspiring me. That means often I'm writing "Taking Umbridge." I'm about two and a half chapters from being finished with that story, and then I have to edit it. But I really like how it's coming out, and hope you all will too as soon as I get around to posting it.

**Clarification: **No one has said anything, but this clarification is because I so hate the suicide!Harry cliché that I wanted to touch on the element of the story. If it isn't already clear (and if I hope it is, or I haven't done my job), Harry isn't looking to off himself in a fit of emo rage. Instead, he's wrestling with the idea that if he kills Voldemort but allows himself to live, he'll eventually just be replacing one Dark Lord with another. And that, he will not allow.

**A/N 2: **So, with all that said, thanks again for reading. And please, leave a review. I enjoy looking over your comments and thoughts, and _sincerely _appreciate the constructive criticism. If you do leave constructive criticism, please do so while logged in so I can PM back. Some of my best lessons have come from reading reviews and then talking with the reviewers about things I'm missed or messed up.


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